What if?
by dmf1984
Summary: What if Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall had a son?  What if he came to Hogwarts?
1. Chapter 1

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM

Spoilers: None

Author's notes: This was inspired by numerous ADMM fan-fics by "Lamenting Quill" and other talented authors at rating K for now (this won't be nearly as _hot & bothered_ ;-) ). Please R&R. _What if_…?

Chapter 01/??Homecoming

The start-of-term banquet on Saturday night, celebrating the beginning of another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was coming to a close. Caught up as she was in quiet conversation with the diminutive Professor Flitwick, Minerva McGonagall didn't pay much attention when Hagrid came walking (surprisingly quiet and graceful afoot for his size) behind Headmaster Dumbledore and whispered in his ear. Albus Dumbledore nodded and smiled at the gamekeeper.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here," he replied softly. "Enjoy your meal; you must be famished from your travels." The tall headmaster stood and cleared his throat, preparing to address the entire school. "Ladies and gentlemen? A few words before we dismiss." There was a momentary pause as several hundred students quieted. Those seated at the staff table were also politely attentive.

"Rest well and get yourselves organized tomorrow. Classes will commence bright and early Monday morning," Dumbledore looked at each of the four house tables in turn, a slight smile on his face. "Prefects, you may escort your first years to their respective dormitories. Off you go, chop chop!" He clapped his hands once and the enchanted candles brightened as many dozens of dark-robed young witches and wizards pushed back from their benches at the four long wooden tables.

Organized chaos followed, accompanied by the excited chatter of students leaving the Great Hall. Dumbledore placed a light restraining hand on McGonagall's shoulder as she was preparing to stand and take one final sip of her herbal tea. "Minerva, would you come with me to the hospital wing? A late-arriving student requires our attention."

"Certainly, Headmaster. Nothing serious, I hope?" She noticed then that Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts' head nurse had left the banquet early.

"Hagrid assured me that it was just minor injuries which the young man sustained outside Heathrow. Poppy is tending to him as we speak."

They walked together through the halls of the castle, nodding greetings to faculty and students whom they passed. Dumbledore paused briefly and held her arm again as they reached the entry door to Madam Pomfrey's hospital ward. He looked around before he spoke, making sure that none could hear, a bit furtively she thought. As Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, their relationship was strictly collegial. It was considered normal that they would spend a lot of time in each other's company; running a school of this size took a great deal of organization and management.

As husband and wife of fifty years, however, their relationship was strictly secret. Only a handful of their closest friends even knew, loyal keepers of their secret for decades.

His bright blue eyes held hers. "Minerva, it's time. Brian is here, at Hogwarts," he whispered. He watched as her expressively beautiful face went swiftly through confusion, remembrance and then maternal concern.

"Brian is _here_? Oh, Albus…" She gasped and staggered into him, tears coming suddenly to her deep brown eyes. _My son? Our son…_thought Minerva. At that very moment, thundering herds of dragons could not have stopped her from rushing to his bedside, her green tartan robes flapping behind her.

The ward was completely empty except for Madam Pomfrey leaning over one young patient; he was already fast asleep. Minerva recognized the angelic face and tousled curly brown hair at once, even though she had last seen him as a tiny newborn infant, some forty-eight years before.

Poppy Pomfrey stood and nodded with satisfaction as she straightened a bandage and adjusted the corner of the bed sheet, smoothing out a miniscule wrinkle. She didn't startle when she noticed Dumbledore and McGonagall standing there; she'd heard them come in as her hearing was supernaturally acute.

"Headmaster. Professor," she said by way of greeting them, smiling slightly. "He'll be fine—just superficial cuts and bruises. The broken arm was from a fall, I'd imagine."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "Yes, the Muggles call it 'mugging' if I recall correctly. Ironic, really."

Pomfrey tutted softly, gathering her treatment tray and bottles. "Well, the poor dear didn't even need the Sleeping Draught I prepared, he was that exhausted when Hagrid brought him in from London. There's the extent of his belongings as well," she said, pointing to a wallet, jacket and pile of neatly folded Muggle clothing. "He had no trunk or school things that I could tell."

"That won't be a problem," Dumbledore told her. "I'll send Hagrid to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Three more late-arriving students are expected in the afternoon, but they'll have already been to the shops."

McGonagall still had not spoken, but drew up a chair to the side of the hospital bed and was holding the boy's uninjured hand, gently stroking his knuckles with her thumb. The Head nurse's eyes went wide as she finally understood who the youngster really was. She quickly drew the privacy curtains and Minerva placed her pointed hat on the floor beside her chair.

"Minnie, is it really he? How long has it been?" Pomfrey touched her old schoolmate's arm, silently offering her support and understanding.

The distraught mother nodded. "Brian was born 29th February, 1960," she said huskily, her voice breaking with emotion. "A leap day of a leap year." As a first year student-to-be at Hogwarts, Brian appeared as any other eleven year old youngster would.

"He'll be right as rain by tomorrow, I personally guarantee it," said Poppy. Her eyes grew moist with unshed tears as she recognized the rare and special privilege she had been granted by this particular family scene.

Albus Dumbledore gave her shoulder a fond squeeze. "Thank you, Poppy."

McGonagall tore her eyes away from her sleeping son and looked with gratitude at her dearest friend. "I'll stay here tonight."

The Head nurse beamed as she stepped around the curtain. "Gi'us a shout if you need owt." The sound of her blowing her nose into a handkerchief drifted faintly back to them.

Dumbledore chuckled and leaned down to kiss his wife's cheek. "What are you thinking, my love?" He stroked her upper back.

She wiped her eyes and smiled tearfully up at her husband. "He's glorious handsome, Albus." He knew at once that she didn't trust herself to speak much more.

Dumbledore chuckled again, and then winced as he gingerly pushed the boy's hair back from his forehead, revealing an angry bruise over one eyebrow. "That he is, thanks to his mother." Albus leaned closer to Brian's ear, whispering an obscure healing charm. The bruise cleared almost immediately; the boy smiled, wrinkling his nose at an imagined tickle and mumbled in his sleep, but did not awaken.

"There's a good lad," his father told him tenderly. He kissed his son and then he kissed his wife, giving her fingers a squeeze. "I'll see you two in the morning."

Next morning, Dumbledore arrived back at the hospital wing to find Brian sitting up in bed, attentively watching Madam Pomfrey removing the bandages from his right arm. He nodded affirmatively at something she told him, and flexed the fingers of his right hand. A tired but happy-looking Minerva McGonagall was coming in from the opposite direction, carrying a laden breakfast tray.

"Good morning, Mr. Rollins," called Dumbledore. "You are looking well."

Pomfrey smiled broadly at them both. "Good as new, professor."

"Excellent! We haven't met; I am Professor Albus Dumbledore," he continued, holding out his right hand to Brian. The boy's handshake was indeed, good as new. "I see you've already met Madam Pomfrey, our school nurse, and Professor McGonagall, our Deputy Headmistress."

"Thank you, yes sir, I have," Brian replied in a distinctive American tone. Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with amusement at this, even though he knew that his son had been adopted from an orphanage in Salem, Massachusetts. The boy seemed pleasant enough, curious and bursting with bonhomie; his accent certainly wasn't British though.

McGonagall placed the tray of porridge, tea and toast on the nightstand beside him and Brian quietly thanked her. Minerva returned to her seat, interested to see how her husband would handle this first meeting. To her proud surprise, it was her son who took the initiative.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir? Where am I?" It was a valid question.

Dumbledore took off his hat and rubbed his forehead and thinning hairline, chuckling. "Quite right, I do apologize. We are presently at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said. "It's in England."

Brian nodded, still puzzled. "I see. And what do you teach here?" he asked politely, fearlessly. Apart from the half-moon spectacles and flowing white beard, Rollins had the same sparkling blue eyes as Dumbledore, and his eyes creased the same way when he smiled. Minerva McGonagall could only watch and wonder, hoping that she wouldn't start to cry. She knew then that her heart was lost forever to the boy, again, and that it would be very, very difficult to keep the secret of the three of them.

But she would do it gladly; their survival against Voldemort and his Death Eaters depended on it. Brian could never know who she and Dumbledore really were.

"What do we teach?" echoed Albus. "Why magic, of course."

Brian Rollins considered this seriously for several heartbeats, his brow furrowed in concentration. They certainly didn't expect him to throw his head back, laughing with great abandon. He shook his head. "_Magical_? _Me_? Not possible, Professor. Not possible."

Poppy Pomfrey stifled a giggle at his completely unintentional reference to a Gilderoy Lockhart book title. "I'll check back on you a little later, Mr. Rollins," she said with a smile. She patted his leg and moved off down the ward. So far, Brian was her one and only patient.

McGonagall was also trying hard not to giggle. "Why ever not? Haven't you ever done anything, er…magical?" With considerable effort, she forced a serious expression onto her face and looked at him over the rims of her specs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dumbledore smiling mysteriously and looking rather pleased with himself.

He shook his head, chewing delicately on a fingernail as he began. "No ma'am. I grew up on a farm in Maine helping my father with the animals, and my mother with the gardens." Brian shrugged. "Well, my foster Mom and Dad. They adopted five of us when they lived in Salem; we moved up to Maine when I was about four years old, I guess."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Frank and Juliette Rollins." He cast a sideways glance to Minerva, who immediately understood. The Rollinses were Protectors: they had volunteered to raise the children of other witches and wizards, protecting them from Voldemort. They reared their adopted children as Muggles, but could contact any Ministry of Magic should the child start to show tendencies of wizardry. From that point, the biological parents, if known (some were after all, truly orphans) could be contacted to further his or her education. Given that Brian's parents were both extremely powerful in the magical world, and both respected educators of wizardry, it wasn't any surprise that he should end up at Hogwarts.

And here he was.

"But nothing ever happened that you couldn't explain, Brian?" pressed McGonagall. "Anything _special_ with the plants or animals perhaps?"

When he didn't answer right away, they could literally see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about how best to answer the question. "Well," he began slowly, blushing all the way out to his ears. "For as long as I can remember, I liked to talk to the plants and animals. Mama would tell you that I pretty much did it all the time…cats, dogs, birds, flowers, and trees, whatever."

"And did any of them ever speak to you?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"Speak? Not exactly, but _communicate_, yes. Well, responded to me is a better way to put it," Brian said modestly. "My folks called it my 'green fingers' since I could grow anything in the garden, no problem." He held up both hands and waggled all ten of his digits by way of illustration, grinning sheepishly.

"_Hmpff_, of course they responded to you, young man. They are living things, after all," came a kindly voice from down the ward. The trio looked up to see Professor Sprout hurrying along the central pathway, carrying a tray of healing herb plants. Her robes were covered with a dingy brown smock, and her well-used pointed hat was, as always, worn at a jaunty angle. "It amazes me how many people forget that."

"Pomona. Meet one of our new first year students: Mr. Brian Rollins, from America," said Dumbledore, introducing them. "Brian, this is Professor Sprout, our resident herbologist."

She nodded and smiled, trying not to get potting soil on Madam Pomfrey's spotless floors. "How do? I'm of the 'green fingers' lot as well, you could say," said Professor Sprout. "Which house are you?" Pomona Sprout was not only the professor of herbology, she was also the Head of Hufflepuff House.

Rollins shrugged. "I honestly don't know, ma'am." He looked to the Headmaster for an explanation.

"Mr. Rollins and our other late-arrivals will be Sorted at dinner this evening," Dumbledore commented helpfully. "Coincidentally, there are three more that will soon need to learn of their House assignments."

"Very good. You'd make an excellent Hufflepuff student, Mr. Rollins," she said, giving him a friendly wink. "Well, cheerio!" She continued down the corridor on her way to deliver the plants to Madam Pomfrey, some of the flowers were laying their heads lovingly upon her chest.

"You need to eat, or the matron here will have my head," McGonagall said as sternly as she could manage, placing the breakfast tray in his lap and giving Dumbledore a subtle nod toward the exit. Minerva reached down and replaced her hat upon her head, straightening it without looking out of many years habit.

"Yes, yes, we shouldn't keep you," added Dumbledore. "Madam Pomfrey is quite protective of her patients, as you will find out." He leaned to lightly take McGonagall's arm, helping her from around the bedside.

Brian took a sip of the tea and picked up a piece of buttered toast. He obviously had many questions left unanswered, but one more popped suddenly into his head. "Professors, before you go, please…?"

They turned as one back to him. "Yes, Brian?" asked the elder wizard.

"In which houses are you?"

"Before I became Headmaster of our school, I was Head of Gryffindor House for many, many years," Dumbledore answered, his eyes glittering with pride at this boy's sharp mind.

McGonagall smiled kindly. "And I am the present Head of Gryffindor, Mr. Rollins." She snaked her hand through the arm which Dumbledore offered.

Brian grinned, quickly swallowing the bite of toast he had been chewing. "Then I hope I am chosen for Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall."

She winked at him and turned with Dumbledore to leave the hospital ward. Before they reached the main door, and out of Brian's earshot, she whispered to her husband: "So do I, Brian. So do I."

Albus Dumbledore squeezed her fingers discretely before disengaging her hand from his arm as they went out into a more public hallway. "We cannot bias the Sorting Hat, my dear. It is a trusted and revered magical object," he whispered back, nearly laughing out loud at the delightfully stubborn set to her jaw. It had attracted him to the gifted and beautiful witch more than fifty years before, and it still did to this day.

She didn't answer but gave him a knowing smirk as they parted, each heading to their own office to attend to school business before the start of the term on the following day. _Yes I_ _can_, thought McGonagall. _Oh, yes I can if I have to_.

TBC?

8


	2. Chapter 2

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it. I'm hoping to follow JKR's canon storyline as much as possible, but you know how that goes sometimes (_oy vey_). Any mistakes are mine all mine, but you can borrow them if you like.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM

Spoilers: None

Author's notes: This was inspired by numerous ADMM fan-fics by "Lamenting Quill" and other talented authors at rating K-T for now. Please R&R. _What if_…?

What if someone born on the 29th of February only aged a year on that exact date? _Magic_. "Brian" will be 12 on 29 February, 2008. Ginormous thank you to all of those who have read & reviewed; I appreciate your encouraging words!

Chapter 02/??Gryffindor Golf

Professor Minerva McGonagall needn't have worried over the Sorting Hat's placement of her son in Gryffindor House. On the rare second sorting ceremony that Sunday evening, he and three other late-arriving students learned of their House assignments. In fact, each house at Hogwarts gained a more international flair that night: an American, a Nigerian, an Albanian and an Argentine rounded out the foursome.

There was not even a moment's hesitation when she placed the shabby-looking magical hat upon his head; it shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" with unmistakable enthusiasm. McGonagall chanced a look up to the head table and saw Dumbledore joining in the applause as the rowdy young people welcomed Brian to their table; Minerva could tell that the elder wizard was pleased when he gave her a tiny salute with his wine goblet.

Gabriel Unegbu, a tall, handsome Nigerian boy, was placed in Ravenclaw; Tandi Hysaj, a delicately-featured Albanian girl, in Hufflepuff; and, though there was more of an indecisive delay from the Sorting Hat, Argentine Leilia Barberis was sorted to Slytherin House. She practically dwarfed her classmates when she joined Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle at the end table.

Dumbledore was leaning over to congratulate Professor Sprout on her new student when Minerva returned to the staff table. He turned to McGonagall and whispered: "Happy now, dear Tabby?" He couldn't help teasing her at every opportunity, but he knew she was overjoyed at the homecoming of their son. If the truth be told, so was he.

She took a sip of her tea. "Very. And I had _absolutely_ nothing to do with it, Sunshine," she whispered back. Dumbledore knew beyond all doubt that she was to be believed; he felt and heard her sigh of happiness at his right shoulder. "Brian is so handsome in his school robes, Albus."

His eyes twinkled at her with affection. "Thank you, my love," he said quietly, knowing that he was going to get a smack later for that one. Even at their ages, they could still flirt with one another, and had actually gotten quite good at being subtle about it with decades of practice. Though she turned from him to speak to Professor Flitwick seated at her right, Minerva snuck a hand under the tablecloth and squeezed Dumbledore's thigh. To her immense pleasure, Albus jumped guiltily and covered it by shifting his chair. She heard him groan softly, and knew she had touched a nerve, literally; it sounded like he was clearing his throat, but she knew him well enough to know what it really meant.

Much later that evening, after the second sorting dinner, he returned the favor in their private quarters and reminded her just how much he appreciated that Minerva McGonagall had agreed to be his wife. Not that they needed it, but seeing Brian again reminded them of how much, and for how long, they truly loved each other.

September at Hogwarts shone crisp and cool, and Brian joined his first-year classmates in having the times of their lives. And busy times it was: with no less than seven courses and an introduction to broomstick flying, there were many lessons and assignments to work through.

Monday through Thursday mornings were always Gryffindor first year students in Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall (first period) followed by Charms with Professor Flitwick (second period). Friday mornings were a challenge since they had Double Potions with Professor Snape, and were scheduled with Slytherin first years at the same time. Not many of the young Gryffindor lions would claim this one as their favorite: the Potions Master was also head of Slytherin House and favored his own pupils above all others.

By the time the noonday bell sounded, all of the students were ready for a break; there was only so much you could cram into your brain before your body started complaining. It took Brian and his classmates a few days to become accustomed to the manner with which their food arrived to the long table, but after that, no one startled the way they had on the first dinner night. They even grew accustomed to the company of the castle's ghosts: Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpinton was the Gryffindor ghost and he often joined them at mealtimes and in study hall. Following the older students' lead, Brian made sure that he addressed him as "Sir Nicholas" and not "Nearly Headless Nick". Ghosts had feelings too.

Monday through Thursday afternoons saw the Gryffindor first years concentrating on Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, a nervous sort of wizard who always wore an odd purple turban wrapped around his head. As a DADA instructor of some renown, he also smelled strongly of garlic; it was said that vampires all over Europe would love to chance a meeting with him to, well, "repay" what he'd done to some of their brethren in the past.

Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, they finished their classes for the day with Professor Sprout in Greenhouse number one and Herbology. Monday and Wednesday, their last class of the day was History of Magic with Professor Binns, the only ghost instructor at Hogwarts. Fortunately or not, this period was ideal for a bit of a nap as he droned on and on (and on) about this or that Goblin war. It was a good thing too, since Gryffindors were scheduled for Wednesday Astronomy at midnight with Professor Sinistra, a pale witch who rarely came down from her tower in the daytime. She was stern but fair, and most students liked her courses.

Brian fit in well with his classmates; some were from Muggle families, some were from so-called "pure blood" wizarding families, and some were from families that fell in between. As both McGonagall and Dumbledore quietly noted, he seemed to be making friends and struggling along just as the other students did in trying to acquaint themselves with the magical world. Within the first two weeks, he was just as swamped as they were in homework: rolls and rolls of parchment needed to complete essays, research papers and worksheets which were assigned to them. And who was it that seemed to give out the most homework? It was neck and neck between Professors Snape and McGonagall, but at least he included his own Slytherin students in the suffering.

Rollins labored under enormous books checked out from the library, often helping Hermione or Neville or one of the others in his year to carry some of them back to the Gryffindor common room. Other than his distinctly American way of speaking, there was nothing extraordinary that really set him apart from the pack; his homework and his handwriting were nothing special to look at. His parents worried illogically about this, Minerva more than Albus, but Dumbledore explained this to himself as her "mother-hen" tendency. Of course, he never actually said this aloud; she'd probably not like the joke.

That is, until Harry Potter started training as the youngest Quidditch Seeker in centuries. While some students were practicing their broomstick flying under the supervision of Madam Hooch (she offered extra sessions after each group of first years had met in the first week of school), Brian was swimming the lake that lie adjacent to the school grounds. While other students were practicing their wand skills or reading volumes upon volumes of wizarding history, Brian was befriending the giant squid which lived in the lake. In short, if it was daylight and free time, he was in the lake, as much at home in the water as he was on land. He reckoned he could write essays when it was too dark to swim.

A few of the other students (even some who were not in the first year) tried to go for a dip when he did, but they soon discovered two very important things. One, that they were nowhere near as strong a swimmer as he; and, two, that the water was really, really cold. Whenever someone asked Brian about this, he just shrugged and laughed in his self-deprecating way, saying that he was used to cold water from back home in Maine. All he ever wore on these excursions was an old pair of blue swim trunks, borrowed from one of his dorm-mates.

He seemed to have no reason to fear the merpeople or the grindylows either. Once, when a pack of grindylows got too close and nearly had his swim trunks off, half of them got whomped severely by the giant squid. Just remember: grindylows aren't too bright.

It was customary for Hogwarts faculty to gather together on a late Friday afternoon, once a month, for cocktails, camaraderie and gossip. The staff conference room had a nice balcony overlooking the lake, and Dumbledore arranged for light snacks and drinks to be served while they enjoyed the sunset before dinner in the Great Hall. There was no theme for the gathering, and neither was attendance required, but nearly the entire faculty made it a point to show up and at least speak to the Headmaster for five minutes. Some of them genuinely liked each other and had worked together since their own student days. A few of them had to work on their social skills, and temporarily declare no hostilities during the "second Friday truces".

On this particular Friday, the second one in September, Hagrid joined the party, and found himself on the balcony with Professor Sprout discussing bird life of Great Britain. Both armed, so to speak, with Omnioculars, they were scanning the near shore for any new species to add to their respective life lists.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Hagrid to his birding partner. "Go laddie! Go!"

She misunderstood his enthusiasm and tried to find the bird in the direction he was searching. "A new one, Hagrid?"

He chuckled. "Nope, not exactly, Professor. The Yank has just about reached the other side of the lake this time." The Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts fell easily into using the student-given nickname for Brian. Not original, sure, but descriptive enough to suffice; and, he was the only American at Hogwarts, ever.

"My stars," said Professor Sprout. "I've heard some of the students talking about this. Apparently Brian set himself a high goal right from the start of term. A few of my Hufflepuffs are hoping to work up to just getting in and getting wet." She giggled at the thought.

McGonagall just heard "Brian" and "lake" and was out on the balcony in a flash, rushing from the hors d'oeuvres table inside. She hid the worried look in her eyes by asking to borrow a set of Omnioculars. Sure enough, there he was; her son's arms angling out of the water in a powerful crawl stroke followed by a graceful glide. It seemed effortless. Moments later, as she and several others (who had by now conjured up their own viewers) watched with bated breath, he waded out and sat on the far bank of the lakeside. Minerva zoomed in as much as she could across the mile or so distance and froze the view frame on his smile of triumph. Professor Flitwick and one or two of the others burst out into spontaneous applause.

Dumbledore laughed, delighted. "Well done, boy! Well done." He had moved quietly to McGonagall's side and elbowed her gently in the ribs. She ignored him but he heard her sudden gasp as Brian dove back in and started across again. Below them on the near shore, a dozen or more student spectators were still cheering and cat-calling to him across the lake. Fred and George Weasley had somehow conjured up small brass airhorns apiece and were blowing them raucously.

"Huh, not much rest for the trip back," commented Hagrid, taking a sip from his huge tankard of ale.

"I hope, Headmaster, that you are not considering a special award for this feat," said Snape waspishly. "Provided that he survives, of course."

Albus turned to look at his Potions Master, still smiling benignly. "Not at all, Severus. I certainly couldn't do it. In fact, I don't think it's ever been done without magic." He fervently hoped that Minerva wouldn't give herself away by clawing the man's eyes out for speaking so ill of her child.

Flitwick sniggered from the deckchair he was standing on, delicately tasting his cocktail. "Without magic? _No_, thank you." Several around him chuckled and raised their glasses, including Professor Binns (his ghostly goblet had nothing in it, but a toast is a toast).

Snape inclined his head slightly, a tight non-smile upon his lips. "I meant no harm to Mr. Rollins, clearly. What I should have said is that his time might be better spent on his studies. His spectators might consider the same."

McGonagall forced a sardonic chuckle. "The lake is not out of bounds, Professor Snape, and the students of my House seem to make the most of their recreation." Professors Sprout and Hooch shared a glance of raised eyebrows at this concession by their old schoolmate. She'd justifiably earned a reputation as a very studious witch, both as a student and as a teacher.

"Besides," added Dumbledore lightly, "Mr. Rollins was raised by Muggles and does not yet know of our…amusements." He laughed again and returned to his Omnioculars as Snape quietly went back inside.

"It is as you say," Snape finished, _sotto voce_.

For the faculty spectators who remained on the balcony, the next quarter hour was spent watching Brian and making quiet comments to each other, remarking on his swimming style or on his persistence (or both). Some of them even found themselves muttering encouragements to him, not that he could hear.

Hagrid, taking up the role of commentator, spoke more loudly as Brian got closer to the near shore. "Here we are, Yankee. Nearly home." He paused dramatically as the water behind the swimmer began to churn, tiny waves splashing here and there. "Uh oh. Grindylows."

"Come _on_," muttered McGonagall, urging him to the finish. Most of those who heard mistakenly thought she was concerned as his Head of House. Albus knew better.

As they watched, Brian kicked harder once or twice, and nearly faltered. Someone on the shore screamed as they probably saw the grindylows trying to distract him from his goal by tugging on his feet or legs. And then, just as suddenly, a giant tentacle swept from below the water and not fewer than five grindylows flew through the air and landed high in a tree. The students cheered, turning in surprise when they heard the faculty above them doing the same. Brian reached the bank and waded out of the water, breathing hard but grinning, gratefully taking a wool blanket from one of his comrades. They could see him give Fred a surprised look before he courteously waved up to the faculty who were viewing from the balcony.

"Well played, Squid. Well played," said Dumbledore, admiration in his voice. "That nickname sounds so much more jolly than _Yank_ don't you think?" He caught his wife watching him and he winked. All she could do was wink back, shaking her head in fond exasperation. As they looked on, Brian leaned down and patted the giant animal's tentacles, obviously having one more conversation before he left the lake for the day.

Above them all, the tower bell sounded, echoing across the water and bouncing off the mountain peaks on the other side. Albus held out his arm in a gallant gesture; Minerva on one side and Pomona Sprout on the other. "Ah," he said brightly. "Dinner and a show."

TBC?

A/N: kinda weird, I know, but I needed a set-up chapter! Honest. 


	3. Chapter 3

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM. I can't help myself; I always think of Richard Harris as Dumbledore, so that's how I write him!

Spoilers: None

Author's notes: This was inspired by numerous ADMM fan-fics by "Lamenting Quill" and other talented authors at rating K-T for now. Please R&R.

Chapter 03/??

_Felis familiaris_

The Head of Gryffindor House held her forehead in her hands, her elbows propped up on the desk in front of her. She was shaking her head and muttering some very Gaelic mild oaths under her breath. The Weasley twins, Hogwarts and Gryffindor House students in their third year, were going for a record in detentions, and September wasn't even over yet.

"Quidditch season will begin the month after next, Minerva. That always keeps the idle lot more…involved," said Dumbledore reasonably. "Or at least, less likely to get into mischief, right?" He couldn't have kept the amused tone from his voice if he'd tried, knowing that Fred and George were able to play Quidditch and do any number of things simultaneously if they so chose.

McGonagall sighed and removed her glasses, gently squeezing the bridge of her nose. She smiled at him with affection. "You're right, Albus; I know. Thank you." With a subtle flick of her wand, she made room for the hovering tea tray on the side table next to her desk. Dumbledore watched quietly, sitting back in the well-cushioned armchair across from her. Preferring to pour the tea herself when it was just the two of them, he waited until she handed him the cup and saucer, then prepared another as her own.

"And thank you, my dear," he said, brushing her fingertips with his. He crossed his legs and got comfortable. "You know full well it's always the same thing in the first few weeks of term, Minerva. We just haven't had a wrecking crew like these boys in years."

She laughed irreverently as she sat across the readied chessboard from him, gathering her robes more comfortably around her lower legs. "Too bloody true!"

Saturday mornings at the start of the school year had become very special for the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. At the moment, there were fewer papers that needed marking, and they took the opportunity to share a few precious hours of quiet time together, playing wizard's chess or just chatting. There would be time enough later to answer owl posts from various concerned parents or from various concerned ministers, wherever they may be.

"I don't know how Molly does it. Bill, Charlie and Percy were never this…" she paused, blowing across her cup of tea to cool it, searching for the right adjective (or expletive as the case may be).

Albus tilted his head to one side, sucking thoughtfully on a lemon drop, a tiny smile on his lips. "Creative?" he offered. They both laughed at this but where interrupted by a knock at her office door.

"Enter," she said crisply, taking a sip of her tea and raising both eyebrows at her husband. _Speak of the devil, _she thought.

It was Percy Weasley, a fifth year student and one of the Gryffindor prefects, with none other than Brian Rollins in tow. Her heart leapt at the sight of her son, but she felt a twinge of worry when she saw that he was holding something in both hands all the while surreptitiously wiping away tears on the upper sleeves of his sweatshirt. When they were not in classes or school gatherings, students were allowed to wear clothing to which they were more accustomed; in Brian's case, his usual Muggle-world attire.

Together, she and Dumbledore stood as the young men came in. "Oh dear. What is it, gentlemen?" asked McGonagall more calmly than she felt just then.

Percy nodded respectfully to each in turn. "Professor, Headmaster. I apologize that we're interrupting your morning, but this couldn't wait." He gently urged a reluctant Brian forward. The elder witch and wizard shared a glance as they watched him trying to compose himself, and looked with favor on the fact that the red-haired prefect kept a friendly hand across the younger boy's shoulders. Inwardly, Minerva awarded Percy housepoints for this; he could come across as pompous, but Molly and Arthur Weasley's middle son was studious and kind. So what if he was a bit of a stickler?

"Go ahead, Brian. It'll be okay," he continued in a soft voice.

Visibly steeling himself, Brian shuffled a step or two, looking up at her with a very sad look on his face. "I found a kitten, Professor, out by the greenhouses. And I was told she needed to be, um…" he paused, sniffling. "…checked out for Dark magic."

Her eyes grew moist as she nodded; she hated to see him so troubled and it tugged heavily at her heart-strings. "That is true. We have to be very cautious," she said. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. We'll take it from here."

Percy straightened in acknowledgement but before he left, he patted Brian on the back, hoping to encourage him. "It'll be okay," he repeated. "See you later, right?"

Brian nodded mutely, trying to give a brave smile. "Yep, thanks."

Dumbledore returned to his armchair and his teacup as McGonagall came forward to take the kitten in hand. The boy looked with obvious worry at the tiny animal which she now held and was unable to meet her gaze. "Please, have a seat, Brian," she told him kindly as she went back around to her desk, setting the kitten down to walk on the blotter and low stack of papers. Immediately, the little black and white cat "meowed" happily and began to play with one of the feathered quills she found there.

Brian looked up, still with sadness in his crystal-blue eyes, and moved to the vacant armchair opposite the Headmaster. "Yes ma'am, thank you." His feet barely brushed the floor when he sat in the tall chair. "Good morning, sir," he greeted Dumbledore politely.

Dumbledore inclined his head and returned the greeting in silence. From her seat at the desk, McGonagall cleared her throat, ignoring the amused look of irony that Albus was now giving her.

"So," she began. "Tell us about the kitten, please." The Head of Gryffindor House was momentarily distracted as she rescued an unopened inkpot from the little cat's attentions. It was a really cute kitten: mostly black coat with four white "socks" and a penny-sized white spot on her chest. Her bright orange eyes gleamed with comical naughtiness as her ears pricked forward at McGonagall's hawk feather quills once more, completely ignoring for the moment the three humans in her presence. Her tail flicked back and forth as she prepared to pounce on an imagined foe.

Brian took a deep breath. "I found her outside the greenhouse as we were leaving Herbology the other day. I thought…well, I thought I could keep her. Can I? She's really clean and well-behaved; she sleeps in my bed and everything."

"First years are allowed pets, true," commented Dumbledore. "Mr. Longbottom's toad is quite a specimen."

"Trevor, yes sir. But some of the guys in study hall this morning told me that Zoe should be checked out first, by a teacher," he went on, indicating the frisky kitten and blinking back tears again. "They said it meant, um, taking her apart or something."

McGonagall clucked her tongue in sympathy. "Absolutely not. Who is telling you these dreadful things?" she asked, though she didn't have to be a Legilimens to know who it was.

Looking down at his sneakers, Brian replied: "I'd rather not say, Professor McGonagall. I don't want anybody to get into trouble." He blushed furiously.

The Headmaster chuckled softly. "Don't worry for an instant Brian; it'll just be a series of checking spells. Professor McGonagall is an expert in these kinds of things." He meant to be reassuring, but the boy looked up suddenly, worried.

"Zoe won't be hurt will she? I just…"

"She won't be harmed in any way, Brian, I promise you that," said McGonagall firmly, giving Dumbledore a "_help-me-out-here_" look. The Transfiguration Master reached to retrieve the kitten from inside her tartan green witches hat where she had just curled up for a nap. "But it will take some time, and I do want to be thorough for your safety and that of your housemates. You may wish to return to your…"

"I'd rather wait here, ma'am, if that's alright," Brian interjected, looking at the tiny sleeping kitten.

"We could play chess while we wait, young man, if you don't mind the company," suggested Dumbledore, gesturing at the board between them. Some of the enchanted chess pieces came alert at this and were voicing their agreement of the idea.

Brian nodded as McGonagall stood, holding Zoe to her chest with one hand. The kitten had awakened for a short time but was now snuggled contentedly against her, purring loudly. "I will return as soon as I can then," she said as she left. What she didn't tell him was that some of the checking spells would probably upset him at this point in his magical career (_e.g_., _Engorgio_, _Reductio_, etc.).

After McGonagall left, Albus positioned his armchair at the chessboard, and indicated with a nod of his head that Brian should do the same. When the boy cast his glance to the side door through which McGonagall had exited, Dumbledore reached over and patted his arm lightly. "It'll be fine, son. Didn't you learn about Animagi in class?"

"Yes, sir. We did," he replied. "And Professor McGonagall transfigured into her cat physical form. It was really cool, to be honest." Dumbledore just nodded patiently and let Brian mull this over. "Aaand we have to be sure that Zoe isn't an Animagus, or anything like that?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes shining over the half-moon spectacles. "Full marks. Here, try a lemon drop." He offered the packet, reaching over the chessboard.

Grinning, Brian did finally seem to relax as they shared lemon drops and played wizard's chess. The Headmaster took the time to casually ask the boy about his other classes, and about his experiences thus far at Hogwarts School. Albus hoped that he would have plenty of news about their son to share with Minerva later that day; he felt not a small amount of self-satisfaction at having thought of it as a way to cheer the boy up as well.

It was more than an hour later when Brian started to yawn, yet he carried on playing and courteously trying to hide his tiredness from the elder wizard. "I'm sorry, sir. We had an Astronomy review last night. It ran pretty late."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, and found that he was yawning reflexively back, stifling it with the back of his hand. "I know what you mean. It's rather hard to review practical star-gazing in broad daylight isn't it?" Neither of them had moved a chess piece in several minutes, and even the intact ones were complaining to the players to get back on with the game.

"Cheeky," said Albus to his king, queen and remaining bishop who were glaring up at him with their hands on hips. "Go on and have a sleep, you lot; go on." Brian snickered along with him when the chess pieces each gave a mildly rude gesture and marched themselves back to the box.

By the time McGonagall returned to her office with Zoe the kitten, she found the two most important men in her life sound asleep, the chessboard now emptied between them. Both Brian and Dumbledore had stretched out in their armchairs in the same poses, their feet propped up on a shared ottoman. She shushed the kitten that "meowed" at the sight of Brian, stroking her and calming her as she placed Zoe on the desktop. The kitten chewed hungrily on her fingertips, so the witch conjured a bowl of kibble and saucer of milk. With a quiet squeak of thanks, Zoe began immediately to enjoy her lunch.

Minerva wanted to hold this picture forever: her son and her husband sleeping peacefully in her cozy office. Her heart thudded with love for the two of them, and she sat as quietly as she could, content just to watch. Albus felt her tender gaze upon him and opened his eyes, smiling sleepily at his wife. He so enjoyed waking up to the beauty of her face, and he made it a point to tell her this often.

McGonagall put a finger to her lips and inclined her head towards Brian, who was still asleep. To her dismay, though, the noonday bell sounded loudly across the castle grounds and he woke with a start.

"Oh, excuse me," he said, reddening as he got up from the chair, stretching rather cat-like himself. Brian noticed his kitten lapping at the saucer of milk and smiled tentatively at his Head of House. "Is she…?"

"I pronounce this cat completely free of Dark Magic, young man," she said with a conspiratorial wink at Dumbledore. "She is a normal, healthy kitten, and looks to be entirely willing to be your pet. Congratulations."

Brian gave her a grateful smile as he reached to pick up Zoe; the kitten had finished her lunch and had just started to groom her face and front paws, purring with contentment. "Thank you, Professor. And thank you, sir. I really enjoyed our chess," he said when Dumbledore stood, also having a good stretch.

Albus tickled the kitten's ear and placed a benevolent hand on the boy's head. "We'll have to play again sometime then."

"Right. Off you go, Mr. Rollins," said McGonagall. "Don't forget your Transfiguration homework due Monday."

"No ma'am. I'm working on it today," Brian assured her as he left, smiling happily.

When the boy had gone, Dumbledore turned to make sure the chess pieces were tidied up, humming to himself. He looked up with concern when he heard what sounded like a stifled sob coming from the woman who stood beside the desk.

"Minerva? What is it?" he rushed to her side, looking at her with worry as she burst into tears. He caught her up in his arms and felt her shaking. "Did something happen with Brian's kitten?"

She sniffled and shook her head. "No, no, the kitten is totally normal. It's just…" Minerva drew her lacy green handkerchief from a pocket of her robes, dabbing at her eyes.

"Tell me, please," he asked when she hesitated again. He kissed her damp cheeks softly, and kissed her on the lips before holding her where he could look in her eyes. "Dearest, what is it?"

She gazed at him tearfully, tasting lemon drops from his kiss. "Brian was so very upset when he came to us, Albus. That was a difficult thing to do to him, and I nearly told him who I was. I just wanted to hold and comfort him. I couldn't…"

Dumbledore hugged her more tightly to his chest and stroked her hair. "So did I, Minerva. Hush, I know it was difficult, but he's fine, right? You checked out his little Zoe, and she's fine, right?"

"Yes, but…"

Dumbledore kissed her cheek again. He chuckled suddenly at a thought that came unbidden. "You're not jealous of that wee little cat, are you, Tabby?"

McGonagall put her hands on his broad chest and looked aside, seeming embarrassed as she remained in his embrace. "No…yes…I don't know. Oh, it's ridiculous!"

"You could always visit him, as a cat I mean," he suggested, eyes twinkling gaily at her.

"Don't be silly; the students already know my markings," she replied, blushing. Then she laughed and kissed him again. "I'm sorry, Albus."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," said Dumbledore. "I know! You could always change your markings and head up to the tower for a chat, couldn't you? I personally would love to see you as a ginger tabby sometime." He gave her a provocative look.

Minerva didn't answer, but continued to blush as he could tell she was considering it a possibility. She chuckled at herself.

"Then invite him to play chess. He's not bad for his age," he told her sincerely. "And don't you want to hear what I learned today from your bright and beautiful boy?"

A/N: if I were to pick the soundtrack for this closing scene between AD and MM, I'd play "Heal Over" by K.T. Tunstall. See if you can't find this lovely song. Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM. I can't help myself; I always think of Richard Harris as Dumbledore, so that's how I write him. Dame Maggie Smith is one of my favorites as well.

Spoilers: None

Author's notes: This chapter's title _really_ is a town slogan in Maine. I ran across it the other day and thought it might be useful.

Chapter 04/??

_Cherryfield: Blueberry Capital of the World_

Several days after the successful examination of his pet kitten Zoe by Professor McGonagall, Brian and his Gryffindor classmates were at lunch commiserating over their lack of finesse in that morning's Transfiguration lesson: turning geckos into wallets.

"Polka dots?! exclaimed Seamus Finnegan, slipping into his thick Irish dialect, shaking his head and grinning broadly at Ron. "You've got to be kidding, mate. I wish McGonagall had let you keep that one as a souvenir."

The youngest Weasley boy (and there were six of them) blushed furiously but joined in the rowdy laughter anyway. Not one in the entire class but Hermione had performed a decent transfiguration, even after a week's warning, much to their Head of House's dismay. She gave them a stern talking to for not reading ahead in the chapter as she'd assigned (of course, Hermione had read parts of it on the train journey to Hogwarts even before the start of term).

"Come on, it wasn't that bad," said Ron over their laughing, trying to defend his effort, and searching in vain for a clever retort. His gecko transformation had been somewhat incomplete and the resulting wallet still had four legs and a tail. And, inexplicably, fluorescent lime green polka dots.

Brian, Dean and Harry shared a conspiratorial glance as they tried to stop laughing long enough to speak. "At least his guy didn't catch _on fire_, Shay," Brian commented, an impish twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"Brian, stop," admonished Hermione, trying not to giggle herself. As was her habit at lunchtime, she was reading Hogwarts, A History, propping the book open against a jug of pumpkin juice and marking her place with a clean butter knife. But it was true: Finnegan was becoming famous (or infamous, depending on one's perspective) for the fact that even the simplest of the spells which he cast ended up sparking or bursting into flames. It was a wonder that no one had been badly hurt yet. Few outside of Gryffindor House were willing to partner with him in combined lessons, in any of their classes.

"Stop what?" Brian asked, all innocence until Seamus gave him a playful punch on the arm, knocking him lightly over into Neville (who pushed back with a distracted "_give_ _over_"). He was reading anxiously, trying to prepare for their next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. Other than Herbology, Neville really wasn't close to passing anything.

"Uh huh. Remember, Yank," Seamus said, beaming at him like a daft, freckled leprechaun. "Fire is _fascinating_." This got the boys laughing again; Hermione just shook her head and went back to her reading.

"Finally, mail's here," Dean told them, happily catching his newspaper from an owl as it darted over his head. Dean Thomas' parents were both Muggles, living in London, and had only recently learned to use the Owl Post. The tall dark-skinned boy was a devoted soccer fan, and pored over every sports page he could get his hands on; his favorite team was West Ham, and he kept their poster over his bed up in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.

Hermione, Ron, Harry, Neville and the rest all received parcels and letters; Ron's was a bit larger than usual since his Mom had sent her monthly batch of fudge. He opened it straight away, sharing with the others while he read his sports page from the Daily Prophet (always looking out for international Quidditch scores, and news of his team, the Chudley Cannons…most often in the bottom of the league standings). Ron and Dean had started the school year with numerous passionate disagreements over which sport, soccer or Quidditch, was more worthwhile. In support of Harry, though, who was now in training as the Gryffindor House's team Seeker, the youngsters had agreed to disagree and let it go. Most students buzzed with anticipation regarding the start of the season come November. Even Minerva McGonagall, their Head of House, was a rabid Quidditch fan, and had been for many years, or so they had been told.

Brian was rather surprised when a tawny school owl landed at his place and dropped a thin envelope on his plate. "What's this?" he asked, showing it to Hermione. "I never get mail." It was true; this was his first ever Owl Post.

"You do now," she said kindly. "Maybe it just takes longer to come across the Atlantic from your folks." Her parents were both Muggle dentists and had learned at her patient insistence to use the Owl Post over the summer before Hermione started at school.

He shrugged and flashed a big smile. "Cool," he said, slipping the envelope open with his fingers. The owl hooted softly at him, nodding curiously at the half-eaten sandwich. "Yeah, of course you can try it." The owl nibbled gingerly, taking a few bites of ham and cheese, and then flew off back to the owlery to rest.

"Who's it from, Bri?" asked Harry through a mouthful of Mrs. Weasley's excellent fudge. He passed the box back to Ron, who scooted it over to Dean and Seamus. Harry himself had only recently received his first Owl Post: the delivery of his Nimbus 2000 broomstick, in honor of his making the Quidditch team as a first year.

"Uh, Professor McGonagall," he replied, ignoring their whispered groans of mock agony as he read down to the signature line. "Interesting."

"What'd you do, Yank? That could be trouble, like _detention_ trouble for your crap performance in class today," Ron teased him, pleased with himself that the retort he'd needed earlier had, literally, been dropped in his lap.

"Dude," Brian told him, smirking, "you have such a guilty conscience. No, I am to report to her office at 4:15 this afternoon after last period. Herbology's last today, right?"

"Yep," Neville interjected, barely looking up from his textbook. "More re-potting and techniques for pest resistance." Dean rolled his eyes at the shy, pudgy boy's enthusiasm for the subject but both Brian and Hermione always made it a point to defend him. Herbology seemed to be the only class subject so far that Longbottom was actually good at. He and Brian spoke at length in the Gryffindor common room about herbology, and were thinking of asking Professor Sprout to take them on as assistants for her projects. That, and Neville was fascinated by the idea of gardening non-magical plants like tomatoes and aubergines which Brian kept telling him about.

Brian passed the note to Hermione to read for herself. "Professor McGonagall also asks if you would please come with me. Whaddya think?"

"Sure," she said, giving Ron a sly look. "We can't both be in trouble for our crap performances in Transfiguration, can we?" Ron grimaced but laughed with the others, all the while turning pink with embarrassment.

The bell tower sounded the end of lunch break, and Brian joined his friends as they headed to their first afternoon class. As he passed the staff table, McGonagall raised her hand slightly to get his attention.

"Mr. Rollins?" she asked, turning briefly from her conversation with Headmaster Dumbledore. Brian came quickly nearer, Hermione at his side, waving the others on so they wouldn't be late. "You received my note, then?"

"Yes, ma'am; 4:15, we'll be there."

She gave a slight smile, eyeing the two youngsters over the rims of her glasses. "Sharp, if you please. And bring your wands, both of you." He and Hermione looked at each other, grinning. Now their curiosity would have to wait another three and a quarter hours, but first, they had to get to Quirrell's class on time.

Watching the two Gryffindor lion cubs as they left the Great Hall, Dumbledore chuckled faintly, so that only Minerva could hear. "They look good together, don't you think?"

She tried to glare at her husband, but found herself stifling a sudden snicker at the matchmaker sparkle in his eyes. "Stop it, Albus; you're such a yenta. They're only _eleven_ for Merlin's sake." He just gave her an infuriating wink as his reply, all the while smiling serenely.

On the way to the dungeons for their upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Brian asked his companion: "How long do you think they've been married?"

She looked puzzled and shifted her book bag to a more comfortable position over her right shoulder. "Who's that?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall."

The girl almost stopped short as they rounded a stone pillar, heading downstairs, and a smile of disbelief on her face. "What makes you think that?" For some reason, she found herself reddening at the thought of the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress in _that_ way.

"I dunno, but they're always together, dinner and school stuff," he replied, shrugging. "They seem like they get along well, you know, things like that. They were both in Gryffindor, but I don't think they were at school in the same years."

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking it over. "They do look good together, don't they?"

Brian had to laugh at the pensive look on her face. "Nah!" But he decided to reflect on it more later; right now he had to worry about his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and wondering what Professor McGonagall wanted to see him about. Thinking about the Headmaster and his Deputy would have to wait.

Herbology was another excellent lesson, in Brian's opinion, and afterwards, both he and Hermione gratefully agreed that Ron and the rest would carry their heavily-laden book bags back to the common room. The negotiated exchange was a full report on all of the gory details regarding their summonses to Professor McGonagall's office.

Brian actually waited on the doorstep outside the Transfiguration Master's office until exactly 4:15 before he knocked. Even Hermione rolled her eyes at him over this over the top punctuality; his reply was a cheeky grin. "What?" He showed her the digital and waterproof face of his wristwatch.

"Enter," came the stern voice from inside. They made their way in and stood anxiously in front of her desk, not quite sure what to expect. She held one hand up to ask for a quiet moment or two while she finished what looked like a letter of some sort, then she glanced up and favored them with a small smile. Minerva softened when she saw their somewhat worried looks. "You're not in trouble, you two."

They both expelled the breath they had been holding and looked rather sheepishly at their Head of House and at each other.

"Good afternoon, Professor," said Hermione.

Brian inclined his head slightly. "Ma'am."

She stood and retrieved a rather large box from behind her desk, placing it where Brian could read the labels. "You have received a package from America, Mr. Rollins."

He goggled at the size of it; much larger than any of the parcels he'd seen delivered to students in the Great Hall. "Whoa," he said, laughing. "It's from my folks!" His bright blue eyes were dancing with delight and surprise.

"I told you it must just take longer across the ocean," Hermione commented, smiling at his reaction. This earned a smile and nod of agreement from McGonagall.

"Indeed. However, Mr. Filch is occupied elsewhere on the grounds just now, otherwise I would have asked him to deliver it to Gryffindor tower this morning. It's rather heavy so you two'll have to levitate it back," she told them. "Professor Flitwick assures me that you are both proficient at this particular charm?"

As one, the two youngsters pulled their wands from an inside pocket of their robes and made ready with the appropriate swish and flick motion.

"_Wingardium_," began Brian.

Hermione finished "_Leviosa_."

McGonagall's smile had a touch of pride, for both. "Well done. Five points to Gryffindor. Now, cast together and stay together. Here, I'll get the door."

They grinned at each other as they cast the levitation charm, guiding the brown-paper wrapped box between them. "Thanks, Professor McGonagall," Brian said sincerely. He made sure to keep in step with Hermione so the parcel didn't wobble into anything.

After the two had gone, Minerva stood at the closed door for a few moments, a tender smile on her face as she held the doorknob. _Brian is so much like Albus_, she thought. _So_ _enthusiastic and so genuine_. Still smiling to herself, she crossed to the fireplace and spoke clearly into it: "Albus, are you there?"

"Here, Minerva," came the immediate reply as his head appeared in the flames. His robes, head and wizard's hat all had an eerie red-orange hue.

"Brian has received his package from the Rollinses, as promised. Did Frank or Juliette already contact you?"

"Indeed they did. He is to reply by owl post; there should be a note inside."

"Very good," he said with a chuckle. "See you at dinner, my dear?"

She bent closer to the fireplace and his flame-engulfed head watched her with even more love in his eyes. "Of course; until then." Albus blew her a fiery kiss and then was gone from the fireplace.

When Brian and Hermione arrived back at Gryffindor Tower, they passed Harry on his way out to Quidditch practice. His reaction of surprise was a precursor of what was to come: "Wow! Is that from your Mom?"

Brian beamed then grunted as the box dropped into his outstretched arms, and he nearly falling over with it. "Oops, dammit. Yeah, I think so."

"Cool. Tell me all about it at dinner," said Harry, as he made his way down the staircase, holding his Nimbus 2000 broomstick, and rushing to make his way out to the Quidditch practice arena.

The other first-year Gryffindors were sitting around the common room in the cushy chairs, trying to read for the next day, but this was long forgotten when they saw what Hermione and Brian were hauling through the Fat Lady's portrait. Their eyes all went wide with surprise.

"Brian!"

"Hey!"

"Here, over here you guys," said Ron, helping them to the hearthrug.

"Why don't we give you some privacy," Hermione suggested, standing to usher the others over to the long table, stacked with books.

Brian smiled at her from where he was sitting on the floor. "It's okay. I like the company," he said, ripping the outer wrapping from the large box. Dean, Ron, Seamus and Neville remained nearby; Neville was still reading an assignment for the next day's Potions lesson.

The lid of the box came off and Brian passed it to one of the other boys. Inside were several smaller packages, all individually wrapped and labeled from each of Brian's older siblings. "Oh, here's the note from Mom. I'll save that," he told them, pocketing it. The first item he removed was a dark blue baseball cap, which he immediately put on.

"B for 'Brian'?" asked Dean with raised eyebrows.

"No, B for 'Boston Red Sox'," he said, winking. "That's my pro baseball team back home."

Ron grunted, pretending to be disgusted. "Oh no. Don't tell me you Americans don't have Quidditch or a decent football league to root for."

Brian laughed out loud, tossing his head back. "Well, I don't know about Quidditch, but what you call football, we call soccer. It's okay, I guess, but baseball is better."

Dean punched him on the arm for that. "So is this baseball magical or what?" He was grinning, glancing between Ron and Brian.

Brian adjusted the baseball cap, and smirked at his buddies. "Not exactly magical, but there was this curse on my team once…" He spent the next ten minutes explaining to them the "Curse of the Bambino" (cast by the famous slugger Babe Ruth and which lasted from 1918 to 2004, the long duration between World Series wins by the Red Sox team) as he unpacked and unwrapped the items from the care-package, arranging them on the floor around him.

Hermione pointed at a framed photograph that included seven people and two large dogs. "Great photo. Are these your parents?" She had moved to sit on the floor beside him.

He leaned over to see what she was holding. "Oh yeah! Um, that's my Mom and Dad. My oldest brother, Joseph, he's 18. Kelly, my sister, she's 16," he told them, pointing out each person: an older couple, short and plump; a tall dark-skinned boy and a blonde-haired girl. "That's Archie, 15 and Tommy, 13, and our dogs. Oh, and me, of course, between Rex and Fly. I'm the youngest." Brian smiled fondly as he looked down at the family portrait (an ordinary, non-moving Muggle photo), rubbing the edge of the frame with his thumb.

Dean was impressed by the fact that Brian had a black boy for an older brother. "Your folks adopted, what, five kids?" All five of the children looked very different from one another, and none of them favored the stout couple.

"Yes, from this orphanage place in Massachusetts, then we moved up to Maine when I was a little kid. My Dad, Frank, he used to teach at the University of Orono, but then he just did stuff around the farm when we moved to Cherryfield; it's closer to the coast by a few miles. Anyway, we got my letter from Hogwarts back in June, I guess. Mom didn't seem too surprised really, now that I think about it." He didn't notice the shared look of friendly understanding that passed between Hermione, Seamus and Dean: Hermione and Dean both had Muggle parents; Seamus always said he was "half and half".

"Hey, more presents," said Brian rummaging through the pile of individually wrapped smaller parcels. "Oh, geez Mom," he murmured, blushing as he hid a package of brand new underwear and socks behind his back.

He unwrapped the next one, a rather lumpy package that contained a scarlet red ski cap, entirely ordinary-looking apart from the fact that it had a huge plush lobster sewn to the top of it. "Dear Squid," he read aloud. "Don't want you to get cold over there, love from Joseph."

Neville giggled when Brian handed it to him, gesturing for him to put it on. "My Gran has this giant vulture hat she likes to wear." He posed with the lobster tuque to the applause of his fellow first years, beaming with shy pleasure at the way he was being included in the fun.

"Your brothers call you Squid?" asked Ron. "I thought you were going by Yank?"

Brian shrugged, grinning. "Either one is fine; tall, skinny, swimming…_Squid_."

"How 'bout _Squank_?" Seamus teased. They all laughed at this. "What the hell is that?" Finnegan was pointing to the next package Brian had opened containing soap and other toiletries (lemon-mint toothpaste, toothbrush and a small yellow comb from his sister). "Irish Spring?"

Rollins sniffed the shamrock green soap in its wrapper and held it out to him. "Yeah, it smells good, here."

Seamus grinned but refused to touch it. "Crap name, boyo."

"Oh, this is the best one, you guys," Brian exclaimed, picking up the last package which contained a box of Oreo cookies, a zipper-sealed bag of freeze-dried blueberries and cheese spray in a can. "It's from Archie and Tommy…" he paused, picking up the note that fell on his lap, and reading it aloud to his friends. "Don't tell Mom we're mailing you junk food. Be good Squid." He sprayed some of the unnaturally orange cheese on his finger and ate it with great relish. The others were taken aback when he offered to pass it around.

"No thanks, Bri," said Hermione, grimacing a little, then looking up with relief when the bell tower sounded across the campus grounds; dinner hour.

Brian shrugged again, not offended. "I know; it's an acquired taste."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM. I can't help myself; I always think of Richard Harris as Dumbledore, so that's how I write him. Dame Maggie Smith is phenomenal as well.

Spoilers: None

Rating: K+ to T

Author's notes: JKR has expressly mentioned in other sources some of the canon characters' dates of birth, but never Albus Dumbledore's. So, I'm going with what would be Richard Harris' birthday of October 1 (_e.g_., MM on 4th October 1924 and AD on 1st October 1840…hmmmmmm, two Libras _bringingsexyback_). Hooray for and The Harry Potter Lexicon!

Chapter 05/??

Birthdays and surprises 

The Head of Gryffindor House had just received a note from the Head of Hufflepuff House, regarding the voluntary work assignments in her greenhouses that had been undertaken by Brian Rollins and Neville Longbottom. Minerva made a mental note to speak to the boys about not neglecting their other classes, but this involvement with other Hogwarts instructors was good for both of them. She chuckled to herself at Pomona Sprout's use of the word "enthusiasm" in the note in reference to her son and his gardening from seeds (the Herbology Master didn't know of the boy's true parentage; she was merely sending a progress report to his House mentor). Headmaster Dumbledore had pulled some strings to allow the boys and Professor Sprout to order from the Thompson and Morgan Seedsmiths (U.K., Ltd.); Hagrid was able to pick up their purchases on his errand trips to Diagon Alley (and his own gardening supplies…he was readying the gigantic Halloween pumpkins among other fruits and vegetables for the school celebration at the end of the month).

October entered swiftly at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, cold and rainy-gray, and Brian had to cut back on his daily swimming in the Black Lake to Friday through Sunday afternoons, when it was only slightly less busy than the rest of the week. He promised his friend, the giant squid, that he would at least visit as often as he could, and that he was not neglecting him for other things. Elliot, as Brian was pleased to learn his name from the animal himself, had a very understanding and forgiving nature for an invertebrate.

Brian and Neville had just arrived back to the Gryffindor common room that Saturday morning, both of them grimy from hauling plants and seedlings around and looking forward to a wash up before lunch. The afternoon was already planned with a study hall that had been organized for them by Hermione Granger. His young black and white kitten, Zoë, jumped up from her cuddle-knot in an armchair with Crookshanks when the boy plopped down tiredly in front of the fireplace; she "meowed" plaintively, giving voice again to her disagreement that he'd not taken her along that morning.

"Hi, pretty girl, I'll take you down later to see the greenhouse, alright," he said, stroking her cheeks with both hands as she purred and kneaded on the chest of his soil-stained sweater. "Have a good nap?" She chirruped in reply, then settled down to groom herself right there on top of him while he lay stretched out on the hearthrug, sighing contentedly as the warmth emanating from the fireplace started to spread over him.

Neville scooped up his toad, Trevor, before collapsing into another cushy high-back chair nearby, holding the giant toad in his lap. "Where'd you learn about those Jiffy-pot things?"

Brian laughed, tilting his head to look around Zoë. "Oh, my Mom swears by them, and we used to use them for everything, even flowers and stuff. It'll work…tomatoes are usually a summer crop but Professor Sprout tells me the greenhouses are pretty good for climate control."

Longbottom tickled the amphibian on the chin, eliciting what sounded like a happy murmur of thanks. "D'you think they'll work for magical seeds, if Professor Sprout will let us have some? Nothing too crazy, maybe some mandrake or foxglove seeds."

"Yeah, I guess so. Watch it, _please_, Crookshanks," warned Brian as the large ginger cat settled on the crotch of his blue jeans, purring loudly. "Did Hermione go to the library?" He took the slight pause in purring as an affirmative answer.   
The two boys, two cats and a toad sat quietly for some time, enjoying the crackling of the fireplace logs. Brian had to shake himself awake a few minutes later. He gently moved the cats to one side before he got up; they resumed their sleepy snuggle right in the middle of the hearthrug.

"Okay, kitties. I'm getting in the shower," he told them, heading up to the boys' dormitory to get cleaned up for lunch. Neville waved him off, saying that he was going to snooze for another five minutes.

While the rest of the school dined in the Great Hall that noontime, Albus Dumbledore was hosting a picnic for two in his office, a birthday picnic in fact. He had transformed the uppermost level of his office into a flower meadow of thistle and heather, not bothering to disguise his telescope, but the bookshelves had been charmed and transformed into a landscape view. Albus hoped that it would re-create the moors and meadows that Minerva knew from around Edinburgh, where she grew up.

With the typical boyish grin that always took her breath away, he had welcomed her into his office/meadow at the appointed time, and ushered her to the blankets and over-stuffed cushions he had conjured for the two of them. She smiled, delighted at his surprise and allowed him to escort her to their picnic area.

"It's beautiful, Albus. Is that Arthur's Seat off in the distance?" she asked him, pointing to a large rock formation. The extinct volcano in the center of Scotland's capitol city had always been one of her favorite views.

He laughed, his eyes twinkling over the half-moon spectacles. "Well spotted, my dear!" Once she was seated and settled on a cushion, he sat down beside her, gathering his dark blue outer robe more comfortably. Their wizard hats had been discarded downstairs on his large antique desktop. "What would you like to drink? Champagne perhaps?"

She swatted him gently on the leg. "It's a little early yet. Tea please?"

Albus smiled provocatively, raising an eyebrow at her. "As you wish, Milady. Tea now and champagne _later_." The growl in his voice gave her an intoxicating tingle, all the way down to her toes; and it was a good thing she was seated, her knees were weakening at the look on his face. He leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips, his hand caressing her chin; Minerva tasted lemons, as usual, and this added to the butterflies of pleasure she was feeling. Dumbledore conjured two teacups, brewed with her favorite "Lady Grey" blend.

"Cheers," she said as they touched rims of the delicate china teacups. "And Happy birthday, dearest."

"Happy birthday to you as well, Tabby. Shall we eat first, or open our presents?"

She chuckled happily; it was always the same question, and as far as she was concerned, always the same birthday gifts which they gave to each other. Minerva knitted him a dozen pairs of the most colorful woolen socks she could think of, each year trying to outdo herself with bright color combinations of yarn. And then there were sweets, especially the Muggle "Lemon drops" he had become so fond of over the years. Year after year, Albus gave her delicately scented bath beads, and her favorite butterscotch candy disks. Some traditions, she thought, were well worth keeping.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminiscent of the Gryffindor lion whose house she headed; she'd skipped breakfast to mark essays that morning. "I really am hungry, Albus. Let's eat."

He tried to pout at her, but failed when he saw the teasing passionate gleam in her dark eyes. "As you wish," he whispered, leaning closer, silently accepting her promise and invitation. "Presents and dessert later."

With a flourish, he opened the picnic basket at his side, and presented her with tiny sandwiches and crudités. At his subtle signal, Fawkes the phoenix (Dumbledore's magical familiar) began to sing, very quietly. Minerva relaxed even more, and soon they were laughing softly and feeding each other bites of the delicious food from the wicker hamper, behaving like much younger lovers than they were.

They chatted a little, but were more content to be in each other's company, allowing the worries of Hogwarts School to wait in the hands of others on staff for a short while. Fifty years of marriage had taught them that they didn't always need to fill the silences when they were together. Their love spoke loudly enough to be heard.

When she had eaten her fill, he got rid of the picnic basket with a dramatic wave of his hand, grinning as he levitated several parcels toward their cushions, allowing them to softly land at her feet. "Now, _presents_," he told her. Minerva snickered at his impatience.

"Alright, alright," she said, smiling. McGonagall leaned over the low railing, carefully guiding his gifts upstairs from their hiding place in her witch's hat. She caught them and handed him one. "You first, Mr. Patience and Restraint."

Albus chuckled at her teasing tone of voice, giving her a big grin as he opened the bulgy parcel to reveal the rolled bundles of knitted socks. He unrolled a dark blue pair, holding them to the front of his robes; she'd managed to knit yellow stars into them and the blue matched almost perfectly. "_These_ are brilliant, my dear. Thank you." He leaned in for a kiss, which she readily obliged, his silvery moustache tickling her nose. "Your turn." He handed her a gold-foil wrapped cylinder.

"Asian spice," she commented, reading the label on the bath beads. "This is new?"

He nodded affirmatively. "Indeed it is. The young lady at the shop highly recommended this particular scent."

Minerva sniffed the cylinder more carefully, evaluating the subtle combination of fragrances. "Yes, that is nice; I can't wait to try it out." She reached around and handed him the next one. "And your turn again, Albus."

Dumbledore ripped off the decorative paper and opened the lemon candies, tasting one straightaway. "My favorites, thank you," he held the container for her while she chose a sherbet lemon and popped it into her mouth, giggling. He caught her hand before she could swat him again, kissing her knuckles, and passed her another wrapped package.

She opened it to reveal a chocolate assortment, including butterscotches, which he knew were her favorites. McGonagall sighed with happiness, looking with adoration at her husband of so many wonderful years. She reclined on the cushions and closed her eyes briefly, hoping to rest a little after their lunch before heading back to essay marking in her office. Her eyes snapped open again when she heard him get up, moving to the windows and muttering additional privacy charms.

"Albus? What is it?"

He smiled as he returned to her side, gently waving to his hand a leather-bound book and sitting so that he could face her. "I have one more for you. It's a surprise."

Minerva looked at him, a little puzzled. She opened the tiny metal clasp at his silent gesture, finding it to be a wizarding-photo album. The charmed and life-like photos were all of her former students; Gryffindors from many years past, including James and Lily Potter among others smiling and waving out at her. "This is lovely, Albus, but I think I have these upstairs in…"

He held her hand in both of his, long elegant fingers stroking hers in a calming gesture. "Shhh, these are not the gift, but merely the disguise." Albus now held her gaze in his, brilliant blue eyes looking at her very seriously. "I cannot stress how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands; you must guard it with your very life. Do you promise me, Minerva?"

She frowned but nodded, knowing that he wouldn't ask such a thing unless he truly meant it. "Of course, but…"

"There is an incantation to open it, and you must say it three times: _amore di una Madre_."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she repeated it, translating in her mind: the love of a mother. He held up three fingers, urging her to repeat the incantation, which she did twice more. "_Amore di una Madre. Amore di una Madre_." When the last syllable had been uttered, the wizarding-photos shifted to ordinary still ones, but the images made her gasp as she clutched a hand to her bosom. "Oh, Albus…"

The images were of Brian: dozens upon dozens of them showing the boy with his adopted family in Massachusetts and Maine. Her vision blurred with unending tears as she saw her son, growing from infancy to his present age, all through the photographs which Albus had so lovingly attached to the pages of the book. This dark-haired little boy was incredibly beautiful in her mind, and even more she was reminded of her husband when she saw his sparkling blue eyes and his cheeky, endearing grin.

He had been on a competitive swim team at some point, and was often in the company of two very large and very shaggy brindle-coated dogs; the Border collies which were labeled "Rex and Fly" in one of the captions. Though most of the photos were only of Brian, a few included his older siblings and their adoptive parents, especially with the youngsters in their Muggle school uniforms. What Minerva noticed most was how happy they all seemed, regardless of their circumstances.

She had to stop less than halfway through the book, pausing to remove a lacy green handkerchief from a pocket of her robes. Minerva saw then that her husband's cheeks were also damp with tears of joy. Without speaking, they found themselves in each other's arms, weeping silently, each trying to comfort the other with softly murmured words of affection.

After many heartbeats, they pulled apart slightly, sniffling and smiling tenderly. "How did you get these, Albus?"

He beamed at her and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. "I wrote to Juliette Rollins last month. She must have sent copies of everything she had!"

"That wonderful woman…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "There is also a closing incantation, alright?" Minerva reluctantly nodded. "Three times: _cuore di una Madre_." Tears threatened again as she translated in her mind, without speaking it aloud: the heart of a mother.

He kissed her, chastely at first, but as she clung to his broad chest, he deepened the kiss in response to her groan of pleasure. When they finally broke apart, trying to catch their breath, he held her face lovingly in both hands. "Happy birthday, Minerva, darling wife."

She smiled tearfully up at him, leaning further into his caress. "And to think I only got you socks and sweets this year, Albus."

He grinned, giving her a smoldering look. "I think we can negotiate that upstairs, my dear." She blushed at his innuendo but did not protest in the least. "Besides, we haven't had _dessert_ yet."

TBC

A/N: So many talented fan-fic authors classify themselves as ADMM (_a.k.a_., MMAD) for this particular romance. I hope I've done it justice as I am seriously falling for this 'ship. Cheers to you!


	6. Chapter 6

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM; I can't resist.

Spoilers: None

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for some coarse language)

Author's notes: JKR has written two delightful Hogwarts "schoolbooks" titled Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages that supplement the seven larger volumes of the Harry Potter saga. I hope my three-year old son will enjoy them when he's reading more.

Chapter 06/??

Squid Quidditch and Shuntbumps 

The student body welcomed the first weekend of November for several reasons, not least of which were the first frosty mornings of the school year, but more importantly, the beginning of Quidditch season and the real competition for the Hogwarts' House Cup. The Gryffindor common room was still buzzing on Sunday morning after their team's stunning Saturday victory over their main rival, Slytherin. Harry had caught the Golden Snitch, exhibiting brilliant broomstick skills, and thereby assuring their win. The story of how it had nearly gagged him (he'd caught it in his mouth of all places) would quickly reach legend status if Fred and George Weasley had anything to say about it.

Neville had just reached the Fat Lady's portrait on his way back from the library when it swung open, and a rushing crowd of Gryffindor boys swept him along. "Hurry up, hurry up!" someone was calling as they left the common room.

"Leave the books, Nev," Ron told him, his face reddening with excitement. "Come on with us down to the lake." Brian, Dean, Seamus, Harry, Fred, George and the twins' best friend Lee Jordan were all hurrying out; two of them carrying the elder Weasley's old broomsticks which they'd brought along from home that year.

"OK, OK, one sec," he said, flustered and tossing his library books just inside the portrait doorway. "What are we doing at the lake?"

Fred shared a conspiratorial glance with his twin brother, giving Neville a wicked grin as a reply. "Shuntbumps," he whispered. It took the younger boy several moments to translate what he'd been told, and then he ran to catch up with the others as they headed out to Black Lake.

"Shuntbumps" is an ancient wizarding broomstick sport, rather similar to the better-known jousting on horseback which was practiced by Muggles in Medieval times. The object is simple: two participants mount their brooms and then race toward each other hoping to knock their opponent from his broom, without losing their own seat or getting injured in the process. A match consists of three "runs", with one point awarded for each "knock-off". There were risks, of course, including but not limited to: broken broomsticks or other blunt force trauma to the head, face or body.

Most "shuntbumpers" preferred to compete at a maximum 6-12 feet elevation, but this was never a hard and fast rule. Falls from this height or greater added to the thrill, so to speak, and it was wise to choose a soft landing surface such as fluffy grass or snow. It's also important to note that the sport was once very popular in Devonshire, now played primarily by wizarding children who were in the early days of their broomstick flying (most pre-teens moved quickly on to the glory that was Quidditch, if they were so inclined).

At the lakeside meadow, George quickly marked off a jousting line with his container of foot powder (twenty paces) while Fred divided the other boys into two teams: Brian, Dean and Neville against Ron, Seamus and Lee. Harry started to protest his apparent exclusion but was quickly held back by one of the lanky Weasley boys.

"Oi, where do you think you're going, Sunny Jim?" Fred demanded, grinning wickedly.

Harry looked at the two teams on either end of the powdered line and did a fast mental calculation. "Well, George can go with them and I'll go with the other guys; you're reffing, right?" Potter indicated that he should join Ron, Dean and Brian's team.

"As much as it pains me to say, no Shuntbumps during Quidditch season, sorry mate. Oliver would completely blow a gasket if any of us got injured in non-Quidditch activities," said Fred, shaking his head sadly. Oliver Wood, a burly fifth year student, was the House team Captain and Keeper. He was known to be a fervent Quidditch fan and had his team training at a minimum of three sessions per week.

"And then McGonagall would hex you into next week," added George. "And then they'd take turns killing you in every way they can think of."

"Rotten Scottish tempers, both of 'em," Fred continued, shuddering dramatically.

"Very nasty to see, laddie," they finished together in the same tone of voice (an odd and somewhat disconcerting habit for the identical twin Weasley boys). They did a fair job at a Highland Scots accent though.

Harry frowned, hoping they'd laugh and let him off the hook, but they didn't. "So what are we supposed to do, sit and watch?" He grimaced inwardly at the rather selfish irony of what he'd just said (especially in light of the fact that Hogwarts school Quidditch matches drew spectators from far outside their campus).

George chuckled heartily, thumping him on the shoulder. "Oh no, don't worry about being bored, Harry."

"We're the flying coaches, color commentators, referees, scorekeepers," Fred interjected. "And medi-wizards. We've got Oliver's team meeting later anyway, remember?" Harry shrugged, following their better judgment and trusting that his teammates wouldn't tease him about something like this. He watched curiously as Ron and Seamus were preparing themselves at opposite ends of the joust line; for some reason, they had both removed their sneakers and socks, leaving on their sweatpants and hooded sweatshirts. Harry decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.

"Right," shouted George as the pair of them mounted the borrowed broomsticks. "Make it a clean flight, boys, no higher than twelve thousand feet!" He acknowledged their protests with a friendly wave. "Ah, my mistake, no higher than _twelve_ feet, alright? Fred?"

"Thank you, Mr. Jabberwocky," Fred called loudly. "On my left we have Weasley the Wicked, and his opponent on my right, Finnegan the…"

"Flammable!" shouted Lee, getting into the spirit of the game. The other boys cheered and whistled; Seamus raised his fist like a gladiator about to do battle, grinning madly.

"Well said, Sir, well said! On three, lads…One, two, three!" Fred nudged Harry, dropping his voice. "Watch this; they'll be the best fliers of the bunch, I reckon."

Ron and Seamus lifted off at the same time and then flew at each other as fast as they could, probably at a height of about eight feet. Harry flinched involuntarily when they passed within inches, without contact. It reminded him a bit of Quidditch, but without Quaffles, Bludgers and the Golden Snitch. He thought he'd seen knights jousting in a film once.

"Oh, we're tentative this morning, gents," George taunted, clucking his tongue in admonishment. "A pass; nil to nil." As the pair of them touched down and walked back to their respective starting lines, they gave a sportsmanlike brief slap of their hands, grinning sheepishly at each other.

Fred took up the commentary for the second run. "Just warming up slowly this chilly November day, on three…one, two, three!" This time, from a height of about six feet, Ron knocked Seamus to the ground with his forearm as they passed, flying faster this time around. Finnegan landed on the cushy grass, flat on his back, but got up uninjured.

"And a point for Weasley!" The cheers from Brian and Dean were music to Ron's ears, and Harry couldn't help shouting along with them, thoroughly enjoying the rowdy morning away from schoolwork. He'd never seen this wizarding sport, but apparently some of these boys had played it for many years (he was still learning Quidditch, after all).

Seamus took the third run's knock-off, thus ending their match in a draw. He was still brushing grass from his shirt when he handed the broom to the next man on his team, Lee Jordan. Ron passed his broom to Dean Thomas, accepting a handshake from his other teammate, Brian.

George resumed his self-appointed task of assistant commentator: "A draw so far, gentlemen. One point for Weasley the Wicked, and one point for Finnegan the…"

"Flammable!" the other boys shouted as one (including Seamus himself), laughing hysterically. The match was starting to draw some curious passersby, a few Gryffindor upperclassmen and students from other Houses. It wouldn't be long before their loud and high spirits attracted the attention of one of the teachers; Shuntbumps wasn't strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, but students were strongly cautioned against injuring one another.

"OK, Dean, you're up. Lee, if you please," said George, calling them to the line.

"Hey, how about a good name for me this time? Give a guy a chance, huh?" Lee requested. George smiled wolfishly, nodding over to Fred.

"As you wish, Sweetheart," Fred told him. "Up next, we have Dean Thomas, Terror of the Skies flying against Jordan the Juggernaut!" He paused as the two teams, and some of the spectators roared their approval of the nicknames. "On three…one, two, three!"

And so began the second match, and Harry noticed right away that Ron and Seamus had indeed, been the best broomstick fliers of the bunch. It didn't seem to matter, though, as Dean and Lee flew toward two passes before Lee unseated his opponent in the third run. Just as Dean was handing off the broomstick to Brian, Hermione arrived with three cats following her: Zoë, Crookshanks, and a new tortoise-shell female cat that must have wandered up from the greenhouses. Harry jogged over to greet her, grinning as Ron stumbled getting his feet back into his sneakers.

"Ron, that was brilliant!" Harry told him sincerely. "You looked great up there."

"What's up?" Hermione wanted to know, indicating the well-worn broomstick Brian was sitting on precariously (he wasn't known for his broomstick skills among the Gryffindors; she was even less confident on one than he).

"Thanks, mate. It's called Shuntbumps," Ron said. "Hermione, we…"

"We read about it in Quidditch Through the Ages," Brian added, perfectly mimicking her tone when she told them (often) about Hogwarts, A History. Her cheeks flushed pink but she had to laugh in spite of herself. "Wish me luck, guys." Rollins took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to relax.

Fred called Brian and Neville to the line, and Harry knew at once that this match would not be pretty. "Ready lads?" he asked the two of them, both looking anxious at the prospect of flying on a broomstick, especially in front of an audience. "Alright, in the final pairing we have on my left, Mr. _Squid_ Rollins all the way from America (the poor bugger) against Mr. Neville the Longshank…on three, one two, three!"

Both fliers had gotten bad cases of the sillies when Fred announced their nicknames to the crowd, and some of the students were whispering behind their hands, giggling ("geez, Freddie. There are ladies present…" someone was heard to call over to him). Trying to salvage their match, Brian and Neville both over-compensated when they pushed off from the ground: Neville shot straight up in the air, plummeting nearly straight down again, while Brian flew right out over the lake a fair distance, lost control of the broom and promptly fell overboard into the frigid water.

The spectators onshore rushed to see if he was alright; it was nearly half a minute before he came up spluttering and laughing at himself. "_Dammit_! Now _that's_ cold!" he hollered while making his way back, awkwardly holding the borrowed broomstick. As they watched, a giant tentacle came up and smoothly pushed him to the shallower water.

Brian climbed out of the water, shaking icy droplets from his hair. He leaned over to pat the giant squid, murmuring softly as if to a beloved pet, something a few of the students had never seen him do before. "Thanks, Elliot. Should I try it again?" He smiled when the squid seemed to answer him (no one else heard anything, however), turning to look for Neville. "Hey, Nev! Whaddya think? Go again?"

Neville got up a little gingerly, a wide-eyed and surprised look on his face when he discovered that he was uninjured; he couldn't help but remember his broken wrist in Madam Hooch's introductory flying session during the first week of the term. "Sure, yeah. Why not?" He shrugged and grinned sheepishly at the encouragement from his fellow Gryffindors.

The Shuntbumps match between Brian and Neville quickly disintegrated (a total of three passes, so no score), owing in large part to their poor skill as broomstick fliers. Fred, George, Lee and Harry reluctantly had to beg off, departing in time to get to Oliver's team meeting in his dormitory room (so they could watch and discuss game films from the day before; Lee Jordan as a Quidditch match announcer was also an A/V aficionado). Brian learned, oddly enough, that launching himself into the Black Lake while riding on a broomstick was a great deal of fun; Neville even tried it once, as did the other Gryffindor boys. Nearly all of the spectators found this rather boring (and none of them could work up the courage to ask to have a go) and so they cleared out, leaving the six Gryffindor first year students to their own thrill-seeking devices. It had grown cloudy by now, with rain threatening, and most were ready for a hot chocolate to warm them.

The tricky part of this new game was getting the broomstick back to shore without the grindylows trying to steal it from them. Elliot the giant squid was a big help in this; he elected himself to run (or rather, to _swim_) interference against the pack of grindylows while Brian or one of the other boys swam back, with single-armed strokes, and holding the broomstick up out of the water. It was Hermione who solved this little problem: she volunteered to try a summoning spell she'd just read about. Giving the three felines a friendly good-bye pat each, she positioned herself at the shoreline, wand at the ready (the cats all decided it was time to head back up to the castle in search of a pre-lunch snack; none of the students paid any attention when the pretty tortoise-shell female made her way back to a private classroom in the castle, and transfigured herself back into none other than Minerva McGonagall).

"Okay, Seamus. I'm ready," Hermione told him as he positioned himself on the broomstick for launch. He kicked off hard, and moments later, had surfaced and was laughing and cursing loudly against the icy chill of the lake, the broomstick drifting away from his numb fingers. "_Accio broomstick_!" The boys cheered her loudly as the broom obediently made its way back to her hand, and Seamus hauled himself out of the water with Elliot's help, his teeth chattering loudly.

"I'm done, lads," he said, pulling on his dry woolen hoodie. "Aren't you blasted freezing?"

Ron, Dean and Brian all looked at each other questioningly. Ron grinned as he leaned over to retrieve his sneakers. "Yeah, you're right Shay. My Mum will flip her lid if she hears I've got pneumonia." _And I sure don't want another Howler_, he thought to himself.

"So, guys, I'm guessing that's not how Shuntbumps usually turns out?" Brian asked the group in general, gathering up his socks and sweatshirt; he was the wettest of the bunch, and his shoes produced plenty of squishing noises as he made his way up the meadow.

Dean and Neville shouldered the broomsticks for the walk up to the castle. The pair of them looked at each other and chuckled. "Uh, no," said Dean. His short, curly hair looked like it had been sprayed with dewdrops. All but Hermione were covered with grass- and mud stains from the morning's fun.

Maybe it was just bad timing, but as the Gryffindor students were heading up the stairs, Draco Malfoy and a handful of his Slytherin housemates were coming down. It was an honest mistake when Longbottom bumped into one of them, but Malfoy didn't see it that way. Sneering, he pushed back, sending Dean and Neville tumbling painfully all the way down. Neville landed badly and they heard a loud crunch as his ankle snapped at the base of the stairs.

"Argh! Ahhhhhh, shit-shit-shit!" he yelled in pain, tears welling in his eyes as he clutched his injured ankle.

"Hey, you greasy little git!" Ron shouted, running up to help his roommates, followed closely by Brian and Seamus. Miraculously, Dean was unhurt as he landed at the foot of the stairs, both broomsticks crashing down on top of him.

"Oh, you're fine, you fat crybaby," Draco snarled. "And who're you calling greasy, _Weasel_?" His five cronies, including the enormous Crabbe and Goyle, looked a little shocked as the smaller Gryffindor boys seemed to be gathering themselves for a fight.

"Knock it off, Malfoy! Neville really is injured, you bloody wanker," shouted Hermione, hugging her classmate as he rolled in his agony.

Draco didn't seem to notice that Neville wasn't faking. "How dare you even speak to me, you filthy Mudblood," he told her through clenched teeth. "You know you don't belong here. If my father…"

"That's no way to talk to a lady, you bastard," Seamus said angrily, his fists clenched tightly. "Come on lads." And with that, Seamus, Ron and Brian hurled themselves at the six Slytherin boys.

It quickly turned into a full-out brawl right there on the rainy castle steps, three against six. Dean and Hermione had all they could handle trying to get Neville (and the borrowed broomsticks) safely out of the way so that they could help him to the hospital wing; his injured ankle bruising and swelling rapidly. Unpredictably, the three Gryffindor scrappers gave far better than they got, but soon all nine boys were well and truly bloodied before teachers and staff came running from every direction to pull combatants from the fray. Some of the students who gathered to watch were shocked into silence at the violence of it all.

Snape ended up with a Slytherin struggling in each hand ("_Enough_ _you_ _idiots_!!" he bellowed at them), as did Professor McGonagall, much to their chagrin. Argus Filch grabbed Ron and Seamus by their collars, and jerked them up short; both were bleeding from cut lips. Hagrid got his hands on Rollins and Malfoy, and barely kept them from throwing further punches. These last two had blackened eyes and blood was pouring from Brian's newly crooked nose.

Barely registering at the moment that her son was involved, McGonagall was positively livid. "What on Earth do you think you're doing? Fighting amongst yourselves like common hooligans?" Eyes flashing with fury, she gave the two boys in her grasp a good shake before she released them, urging them inside none too gently. "Summon Headmaster Dumbledore to the hospital wing, now!" she shouted at one of the portraits as she swept the entire group ahead of her. Minerva also sent word for Professors Flitwick and Sprout to join them there; a fight involving this many students was reason enough for an immediate disciplinary hearing, and all of the Heads of Houses would sit on the panel.

The students nearby made sure that they did not catch her eye, hoping to watch the excitement without being recognized. They scattered as best they could and the noonday bell helped out in this. With backward glances at the nine who were about to be punished severely, the youngsters headed off to lunch and armed with the juiciest story they'd had in months.

Once in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey took one shocked look at the bunch of them, and had Dean and Hermione help Neville to the first empty bed on the ward. She dismissed them with an impatient wave, her lips pursed into an angry thin line, conjuring eleven hard-backed wooden chairs that arranged themselves into two separate groups at the open end of the hall.

"Sit, all of you," she ordered, taking Professors McGonagall and Snape in her stern glance, and shaking her head at all of the blood, mud and injuries she saw. Pomfrey waved her hand again, conjuring a pile of scratchy woolen blankets and towels. "I'll be back after I've sorted Mr. Longbottom's injuries." She huffed crossly and directed her medi-wizard assistant to start checking over the others.

The boys, and Hermione, were grouped by House, and were directed to choose a blanket or towel and to remain silent in their seats. Snape and McGonagall stood over their respective pupils, arms crossed in nearly identical angry poses. Minerva saw then that Brian was bruised and bloodied when Hagrid finally released his grip and steered him to a chair (though he'd handled the whining Malfoy not nearly as delicately). With considerable effort, she did not change the stern expression on her face.

"That will be all, Hagrid, Mr. Filch," said McGonagall in a quiet voice, looking down at Brian, Ron and Seamus; all three were unable to meet her gaze. "Thank you for your assistance."

Hagrid nodded and snuck a wink at Hermione before he strode from the ward. Argus Filch did nothing to hide his sheer enjoyment at the thought of the punishments that would soon be meted out. "Oh dear, we are in trouble, aren't we?" He bared his gnarly yellow teeth at them; his version of a friendly smile. "This might well be the last night you children spend in this castle."

Dumbledore arrived with Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Hooch trailing him; someone had told the Flying instructor that broomsticks had been involved. He stopped short when he noticed the bedraggled students sitting meekly (including to his great surprise, his own son), some of them dripping water and mud onto Madam Pomfrey's usually immaculate tile floors. Without a word, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at McGonagall and conjured six cushioned chairs and a long table in front of them. Albus gestured for his faculty members to make themselves more comfortable, then turned to address the young people.

"Professors, if you please. Fighting at Hogwarts is a most serious offense, all of you are well aware of this fact," he began sternly, looking at each one in turn over the rims of his spectacles. "We'll begin this disciplinary hearing as soon as Madam Pomfrey assures me that you are fit to continue."

TBC!


	7. Chapter 7

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM; I can't resist.

Spoilers: None

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for some coarse language)

A/N: this chapter picks up where we left off in the "cliffhanger" that was chapter 6.

Chapter 07/??

A Knight's Tale 

Dumbledore soon arrived at the hospital ward with Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Hooch trailing him; someone had told the Flying instructor that broomsticks had been involved in the fight. He stopped short when he noticed the bedraggled students sitting meekly in their straight-backed wooden chairs (including to his great surprise, his own son), some of them dripping water, blood and mud onto Madam Pomfrey's usually immaculate tile floors. Without a word, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at McGonagall and conjured six cushioned chairs and a long table in front of them. Albus gestured for his faculty members to make themselves more comfortable, then turned to address the young people.

"Professors, if you please. Fighting at Hogwarts is a most serious offense, all of you are well aware of this fact," he began sternly, looking at each one in turn over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "We'll begin this disciplinary hearing as soon as Madam Pomfrey assures me that you are well enough to continue."

Not much later, Madam Pomfrey returned pushing Neville along in a creaky wheelchair, making her way down the ward. He had changed into dry clothes: a pair of plain black sweatpants and a white t-shirt (with "Hogwarts" emblazoned in black scripted letters across the chest). His right ankle was heavily bandaged and propped up on the padded chair attachment; he looked bashfully around at his housemates and nodded when Hermione greeted him with an encouraging pat on the hand.

"Give that Skele-gro plaster one hour, Mr. Longbottom," Pomfrey told him. "You know the drill." He nodded, embarrassed and painfully aware that she was referring to his frequent visits to her treatment wing of the school. Neville had had at least one injury accident a week since the start of the school year.

The Head nurse turned her attention next to Rollins and Malfoy. "You and you, come with me, please," she said firmly, ushering them ahead of her. "These are the last two, Headmaster." Her medi-wizard assistant had treated all of the other minor injuries (mainly bruises, cut lips and bloodied knuckles); Brian and Draco were actually the worst of the lot other than Longbottom, each sporting a black eye, cut eyebrow (and Brian's newly broken nose). His ruined shirtfront was covered in blood from the wounds on his face.

Dumbledore nodded, looking up from a parchment that McGonagall had passed to him. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. The rest of you will now state your names for the record so that all four Heads of Houses may hear your testimony," he told them, pointing to the Gryffindor side. Minerva readied a fresh quill and parchment, taking the role of scribe for now as the disciplinary hearing officially began; she would charm the quill to record testimony when the time came.

"Uh, Neville Longbottom, sir," he said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in the wheelchair.

"Hermione Granger," she stated briskly, reddening.

"Dean Thomas."

"Seamus Finnegan," said Seamus, his face looking pale and sweaty under the thick dabs of purple healing salve. It was beginning to itch mightily and he was determined to ignore it, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

"Weasley, Ronald Weasley," stammered Ron, his ears pink. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he kept his hands clenched in his lap, hoping to quell their shaking. His lip was stinging where the medi-wizard had treated the cuts.

"And I will record 'Brian Rollins' and 'Draco Malfoy' while they are receiving treatment at this time," McGonagall added, the quill she held scratching rapidly as she made additional notes.

Dumbledore turned to her, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, Professor. We needn't delay," he said before pointing to the Slytherin house side. "You there, continue." The five stocky boys from Snape's house, including Crabbe and Goyle, each gave their names sullenly, unwilling or unable to look up and meet their Head of House's disgusted glare.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey silently returned Draco and Brian to their seats, cleaning the puddles and debris under the chairs with a subtle wave of her wand. Sitting there in their identical dry clothes, Neville and the other nine boys who had received treatment looked rather like Azkaban inmates already. Even Hermione and Dean, who had changed out of their wet things at the matron's insistence, looked as miserable as the rest.

The Hogwarts matron came forward to the table to give her report to the panel. "That's the lot, Headmaster," she began, conjuring screens to section off the area for the disciplinary hearing (she had other patients on the ward that day, all of whom needed their rest). "These students will be fit for punishment in 24 hours, as you deem necessary. I see no need to keep them in hospital."

"Thank you, Poppy," said Dumbledore and she eased around the closest screen. He murmured additional privacy charms so that they would not disturb her patients who legitimately needed to be on the hospital ward. That, and he was hoping to minimize the rumors that would be flying around the school soon enough.

"I will caution you all to be truthful in your testimony, under pain of perjury, as fighting such as this may be considered an expulsion offense in certain circumstances. It will be up to this council to decide if you have or have not met those certain circumstances," he continued, his face grave. "Minerva, do you have an opening statement as Head of Gryffindor House?"

McGonagall leaned forward, folding her hands on the table in front of her as she spoke, her expression grave. "I have already written to each of your families explaining the potential expulsion situation, and will correspond with them again to notify them of the results of this hearing," she said sternly. "We on this panel must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done." The quill made its own way across her parchments, now in dictation mode. The documents would be kept in the secure school files, recording the disposition of the hearing and any punishments given accordingly; dismissals were fairly rare at Hogwarts, but it had been known to happen.

"Severus?" Dumbledore said, turning to the Potions Master on his left, who was also the Head of Slytherin House.

"I'm sure the students are well aware of my feelings on this matter, Headmaster," Snape said coolly. "And they should rest assured that they will be dealt with according to their offenses." He glared at each one of the "dirty dozen" in turn, his eyes resting the longest on Ron Weasley for some reason.

"Very well. Do you all understand the proceedings?" he directed this last question to the students as an entire group, both houses, and waited for their acknowledgment. "Miss Granger, tell us in your own words what happened today."

Nervously clasping her hands together, Hermione stood and faced the faculty panel. Her Gryffindor classmates could see her knees shaking in her black sweatpants. "Yes, Headmaster," she croaked, clearing her throat carefully before continuing in a stronger voice. She indicated herself and the five boys at her side. "We were returning to the castle from our morning at the lakeside, and as we were coming up the stairs Draco pushed Neville and Dean; Neville broke his ankle in the subsequent fall. Harsh words were exchanged, sir." Hermione's face reddened as she recalled them silently, hoping she wouldn't be asked to elaborate.

Draco leapt to his feet in protest, full of self-righteous indignation. "Longbottom took a swing at me, sir, with that bloody great broomstick he was carrying! I was attacked!"

His further words were drowned out when the five Gryffindor boys shouted angrily back at him; Dumbledore immediately silenced them with a hard look and snap of his fingers (not to mention the laser-beam glares which they were receiving from Minerva McGonagall). "Enough! Mr. Malfoy, you will have your turn to speak in due course, do you understand me?" The pale blond boy nodded pseudo-contritely, chancing an obnoxious smirk at the fuming Gryffindor students, out of the teachers' view. The five other Slytherins looked as if they wanted to crawl from the room, as unnoticed as possible.

Dumbledore continued calmly, nodding at Hermione to return to her seat. "Mr. Longbottom, why were you carrying a broomstick on the castle stairs?"

Neville, unable to stand, straightened as best he could in the wheelchair. "We had been down at the lake all morning, sir, playing Shuntbumps," he said softly. "Dean and I were carrying them…we borrowed from Fred and George, their old ones from home, I think."

Albus favored the boy with a small smile, casting a sideways glance at the Flight instructor, Madam Hooch, who inquired: "And has your flying improved any, Mr. Longbottom?" Her hawk-like features were unexpectedly kind, and most students liked her a lot as a demanding, but fair teacher. She was also the primary Quidditch referee for the school matches.

"Yes, Miss, greatly," he said with a touch of pride. "The guys were helping Brian and me since we're the worst ones on broomsticks in our class." He was heartened at the wink and nod of encouragement from Madam Hooch. Even Professors Flitwick and Sprout flashed tiny smiles in his direction.

"Fred and George Weasley were not playing Shuntbumps this morning, were they?" asked McGonagall sharply, concern creeping into her voice regarding her House team Quidditch players.

"Oh no, ma'am," Neville told her quickly. "They, Harry and Lee all had to go to meeting with Oliver; only Lee actually played. But after Brian crashed into the lake the first time, they had to leave anyway, so we ended the match and did something else…" He trailed off guiltily as he misinterpreted McGonagall's sudden intake of breath and look of concern.

"I was practicing the Summoning Charm, sir," Hermione added politely. "I had just read about it, and we wanted to get the broomsticks out of the water safely."

"Well done, Miss Granger," squeaked Professor Flitwick enthusiastically. "Oh, I apologize for the interruption: we haven't covered that in class yet, Headmaster." Dumbledore expressed his appreciation of the explanation and looked at Hermione with pride, adding his acknowledgement of her work.

"They were no doubt disturbing the residents of Black Lake, Headmaster, with their noise, swimming and broomsticks. That's what started the whole matter in the first place…" commented Snape, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Rollins got swiftly to his feet. "But sir! Elliot really likes our company; he's lonely and…"

Snape gave Brian a harsh, piercing look. "Irrelevant to the…who in Merlin's name is _Elliot_, Mr. Rollins? Another one of your invisible friends?" Some of the students involuntarily snickered, especially those of Slytherin House; Minvera happened to see the side of Dumbledore's beard twitch in amusement when she glanced over at him.

"Elliot is the giant squid, sir," Brian replied calmly, shrugging his shoulders as he remained standing. "He told me his name weeks ago, and he also told me that Merchus promised to get him a wife from the North Sea so he can have kids. He's terribly lonely here; I mean even the grindylows have families." Nearly all of the students laughed at this. To their surprise, all of the teachers but Snape almost did as well, appreciating the passion and unmistakable truthfulness of Brian's answer. Professors Sprout and Flitwick covered their mouths with their hands, trying to hide their broad grins.

Dumbledore's eyes were now sparkling brightly at the amusing development but he wanted to finish with the more serious fighting charges. He held his hand up for quiet, looking down the table at Severus. "I don't think that is germane to the issue at hand, but I will speak to the Merchieftainess later today, if you would care to join me, Professor Snape." He gestured for Brian to continue. "Tell us what happened on the castle stairs, Mr. Rollins."

Brian took a deep breath, and looked respectfully at each teacher seated at the front table in turn. "We were coming back to the castle to get changed and warm up before lunch; Seamus said he was freezing, and honestly sir, so was I. Neville bumped into Draco, who pushed him back down the stairs. I heard his ankle break when he fell…"

Draco jumped up again, protesting rudely. "Headmaster, I was attacked by these madmen, wait until my father hears about this! He'll…"

The Headmaster was about to intervene when he heard what sounded like an angry cat's snarl. He instinctively glanced to his right, toward his wife, but it wasn't Minerva who had made the noise. It was Brian, of all people. He was stomping mad all of a sudden, his blue eyes flashing Gemini-fires under his short, untidy brown hair, still damp from his repeated dunkings in the Black Lake. This gave the disconcerting impression that those same dark locks were standing on end as he unleashed his frustrations.

"You pompous and arrogant little shit-head, Malfoy!" shouted Brian furiously, forgetting himself and jabbing his finger in Draco's direction. "_You_ pushed Neville down the stairs because he accidentally bumped into your whiny ass, and then _you_ called Hermione a 'filthy Mudblood' when she was trying to help him."

Those watching fell into a shocked silence at his profanity, students and teachers alike with their jaws dropping open. Brian had never lost his temper in their recollection and seemed to transform into another person right before their eyes, his arms and shoulders appearing to swell as he raged. Some of the students, even his Gryffindor housemates, found the transformation a little frightening, it was that sudden.

"And since Daddy isn't here to wipe your snotty frickin' nose, you send your moronic little boyfriends to do _your_ dirty work," he continued in scathing tones, adrenaline buzzing in his ears. "Spoiled rotten piece of…"

Brian froze when at last he heard gasps from some of the faculty at the front table, suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. He grew pale and silent when he saw the astonished (but not altogether displeased) look that Professor McGonagall was giving him. The only noise in the room for the next few heartbeats was the sound of the dictation quill scratching across the parchment; Minerva noticed that it was having some difficulty with his Americanized euphemisms.

Dumbledore cleared his throat trying to stifle a chuckle, and pointed at Ron and Seamus to stand beside Brian (which they did, knees and hands quaking). "And as Mr. Rollins has just so colorfully described to us, _this_ is what started the fight, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. "Yes sir, that is correct," Seamus answered for him, straightening his shoulders.

The Headmaster gestured with some irony toward the Slytherin students, five of whom were quite big for their age. "You three on these six?"

Ron finally found his voice, a touch of satisfaction edging into it. "Um, yes sir, that's right, Professor."

Dumbledore grunted noncommittally. "Interesting. Mr. Thomas, do you have anything to add? I notice that you and Miss Granger were the only ones who did not require a Madam Pomfrey treatment of any kind." The tall, dark-skinned boy stood, quite a bit taller than his three housemates. He had been watching the Headmaster's reactions closely, and did not seem nervous in the least.

"I was helping Hermione with Neville, sir; the lads looked like they were handling things alright to me and waved me off. He was hurt pretty badly, and she was already rather upset by the whole situation," the boy said confidently, looking with pride at his classmates. "And I sure didn't want to bust up Fred and George's broomsticks, either," he finished in a quieter voice.

Albus nodded in acknowledgement, indicating that the four of them should take their seats, and then turned toward the six Slytherin students. "Have you anything to add, gentlemen?" Draco looked like he was about to say something further, but stopped when he caught Snape's baleful eye on him.

"No, Headmaster," he said, shaking his head, his eyes downcast with embarrassment.

The elder wizard pressed both palms flat on the table as he stood, the other faculty rising with him as well. "Right," he said, checking his unusual twelve-handed pocket watch. "You will please remain here, quietly, while the panel deliberates. I daresay Madam Pomfrey will be here momentarily to check on you."

And with that, he ushered the five teachers ahead of him as they made their way around the nearest screen.

Ignoring the Slytherins on the other side of the room, Seamus leaned closer toward Dean, seated in the middle chair of their row. "It's been grand knowing you," he said softly to his fellow Gryffindors, smiling sardonically. "We should try to meet up once we're on the outside."

Ron grunted humorlessly. "Yeah, Mum and Dad will probably lose their rag over this mess. Fred and George never made it in front of a panel, even with all of their…you know…" He, Seamus and Dean got up to speak to Neville, who was shifting around uncomfortably in his wheelchair. The Skele-gro plaster on his ankle was nearing its completed task and had become very itchy on his skin (which of course, he knew from previous experience was a good sign).

Hermione had eased nearer to Brian, who hadn't stirred since he'd resumed his seat at the end of the hearing. He sat pale and silent, hands resting on the tops of his thighs, and was staring at a point on the floor some three feet beyond the toes of his sneakers.

"Brian, are you alright?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She shook him lightly when he didn't respond. "Brian? You okay?"

He shivered as if someone had poured icy water down his back, and finally turned to look at her. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine," he replied in a barely audible voice. Brian blinked several times and smiled at the concern in her eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. Really, I'm fine."

Madam Pomfrey came around the screens then, guiding two carts of food alongside of her. "You have missed lunch, gentlemen and lady," she said, her tone fairly light now that all of their injuries had been properly treated (and she'd overheard some of the faculty panel's deliberations).

One cart stopped itself near the Slytherin boys, while the other made its way to the Gryffindors: hot soup, bread, and hot chocolate or pumpkin juice were the simple but tasty fare.

She knelt at Neville's side and had to unwrap his ankle to examine it. "There, much better, laddie," she told him kindly, helping him to stand and put weight on the healed leg. "Go ahead and eat something, alright?"

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey," said Neville, then he smiled slyly. "See you next week?"

Her eyes danced merrily at his joke. "Aye, probably. Brian?"

"Yes, ma'am?" She had noticed that he was the only one who had not moved to the lunch carts; even the Slytherins were almost cheerful as they dined over on their side of the room.

"You need to eat a little something, alright? I don't want you getting run down because of some donnybrook and ending up in my sickbay for true," Pomfrey said. "Your parents would never forgive me." And with that, she left, but he couldn't help wonder at her mysterious smile.

Rollins did as he was told, and selected a steaming mug of the soup before returning to his seat. Hermione kept casting worried glances his way: Brian was rather quiet and subdued since he'd lost his temper so spectacularly. She chatted with the boys, all six of them keeping their voices down, and utterly refusing to notice the Slytherin half-dozen on the other side of the room.

It was thirty or so minutes later, after the students had eaten lunch, when Dumbledore and the other members of the faculty panel made their way back to the front table and sat down. The students immediately quieted, giving their full attention to hear the verdict as it was handed down.

The Headmaster looked at each student in turn before he spoke. "We have reached our decision; no doubt your fertile imaginations have come up with any number of possible outcomes," he began. "Ah, excellent!" said Dumbledore in response to the loud "_crack_!" which sounded as work boots and leather gloves apparated under nine of the students' wooden chairs.

"Thanks to our house-elves on staff, you should find these to be your correct sizes. Miss Granger?" he spoke directly to Hermione, who was one of the three students to not receive heavy work boots and gloves underneath their seats. "Professor Flitwick has awarded five points to Gryffindor for your accelerated mastery of the Summoning charm, and I concur. You are dismissed. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom? You are dismissed as well. Might I suggest a quiet afternoon of study in your dormitory? You've had enough excitement for today, I'd reckon." Dumbledore waited patiently while they exited, not continuing until they were out of earshot.

The three of them stood, looking thunderstruck, and obediently made their way out of the room. They couldn't help casting anxious glances back at Seamus, Ron and Brian, but dared not risk the panel's displeasure just then. They'd catch up on the rest of the story back in Gryffindor tower soon enough.

Dumbledore clapped his hands once, and the lunch carts disapparated back to the kitchens. "Now, for the ones of you who are left. Professor Sprout tells me that it's nigh time to winterize the gardens and greenhouses before the first snows arrive, and that's where you gentlemen come in." He paused, turning to cheerfully nod at the Head of Hufflepuff house.

"Your task is to assist Hagrid and Professor Sprout in the spreading of the seasoned dragon dung, which will protect the garden beds from frost," he told them. "I recommend Monday through Friday from 4 to 7 in the evening to allow time for your studies, and then Saturday from 8 to 4; no magic allowed. I urge you not to test me on this." Albus stared hard at Malfoy who had just elbowed Crabbe and Goyle, smirking. Their smirks faded almost instantly as realization dawned.

Ron raised his hand tentatively. "Sir? What about Quidditch on Saturday?"

"Ah, you'll be giving it a miss Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid, unless you and your colleagues have finished this gardening project in time. It might well give you an ideal channel for your physical aggressions, won't it? And Professor Sprout tells me that she was lucky enough to acquire, what was it again Pomona, one ton of dragon dung?"

She laughed unselfconsciously. "Oh, it's two tons this year, Headmaster. Our supplier had a banner season with increases in his dragon wildlife care programs."

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent! Before I forget, fifty points each will be taken from your House totals in addition to the aforementioned detention. I do hope that this impresses upon you the serious nature of a fighting offense." He looked to his left and right, nodding at the faculty panel members. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen, we are adjourned." He stood, and politely took his leave, heading back up to his office to catch up on Owl Posts for the upcoming week of school business.

Ron, Seamus and Brian rose slowly, looking at each other, pleased with their fairly good fortune at avoiding expulsion. The Slytherin boys, on the other hand, looked deathly pale and as if they might be physically sick at the thought of so much physical labor. They left silently, avoiding Snape's disgusted glares (and this cheered the Gryffindors even further).

McGonagall waited a moment for some of the people to clear out, then called to Brian before he eased around the privacy screen. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnegan? A quick word with you and Mr. Rollins, if you please." The boys stopped, and shared a guilty glance with one another; their work boots now slung over a shoulder each, the laces tied up neatly.

Minerva placed a gentle hand on Ron and Seamus' shoulders, but she looked directly at Brian when she spoke, leaning in to whisper to the three of them. "I understand _why_ you were fighting today, but I cannot condone it at all, gentlemen. There are better ways to resolve…disagreements." Seamus and Ron grinned fiercely at her conspiratorial wink.

She reached to hold Brian's chin, coaxing a tiny smile from him, then she chucked Ron and Seamus lightly on the chins as well. "I need my Gryffindor lions to have their wits about them, alright? Good, off you go, lads." After they had gone, she stayed behind to help Poppy Pomfrey get her hospital ward back in order, disapparating the twelve wooden chairs and the rest of the furniture that had been needed for the disciplinary hearing.

Much later that evening and long after the dinner hour, Minerva and Albus sat in their private quarters, reading and relaxing in their pajamas before heading off to bed. Minerva sat in her favorite loveseat by the softly crackling fireplace, feet propped up and reading the latest issue of "Transfiguration Today". A cup of hot chocolate steamed delicately on the table beside her.

Unfortunately, Albus was too keyed up at the moment to sit very still. He paced nearby, his satiny maroon pajama pant legs scraping quietly as he moved, excitedly recollecting the day's events, especially the parts that included Brian.

"He was brilliant, my dear, absolutely brilliant, don't you think?" he asked her for the third time. "And that temper! Magnificent; a little frightening, but absolutely magnificent."

Minerva made a mild sound of disagreement and chuckled in reply. "I'm not exactly pleased that our son would have inherited _that_ particular trait of mine, Albus. I'd prefer something like a nice talent for transfiguration, or even writing or perhaps Animagus transformation, but certainly not my bloody hot-headedness!" In spite of herself, she smiled, shaking her head.

Dumbledore came to sit beside her, kissing her forehead and hugging her shoulders while she put the journal face-down in her lap. "Well, now he has my crooked nose, hasn't he? In addition to my fabulously azure eyes that you so devotedly admire." She pushed him on the arm, teasing at the poetic tone he'd adopted.

"You might have come up with a detention that your son won't enjoy quite so much."

Albus tasted his hot chocolate, and smiled benignly at her over the gold-leafed rim of the cup. "Dearest, listen. Pomona assured me that even _with_ magic, it takes her at least six hours to spread that much dragon sh…manure…properly. It's four _thousand_ pounds; these boys will be hard pressed to finish up by Saturday at the earliest!"

"I didn't say they wouldn't finish quickly, but I'll bet you ten galleons and all the sherbet lemons you can carry that Brian will completely love this little gardening project of yours and Professor Sprout's," she said, grinning at his obvious confusion.

He shrugged unpretentiously. "Tabby, I haven't a clue what you mean by that." Dumbledore watched, curious, as she summoned the birthday gift photo album from her nightstand, then whispered the appropriate incantation to open it. Pushing her reading glasses back up on the bridge of her nose, she riffled through the pages carefully until she came to one in particular.

It wasn't often that Albus Dumbledore was caught speechless, but he certainly was then. After a few moments looking closely at the photograph, he threw back his head and roared with laughter, hugging her even tighter about the shoulders. She leaned back into his chest as he held her close.

And what was so funny? The ragged-edged photo she found was of Brian, about age seven years, with his three older brothers; they were dressed in work clothes, holding pitchforks or shovels, completely covered in muck, and standing atop the biggest pile of cow manure and mulch that either the witch or wizard had ever seen. All four boys were grinning devilishly at the camera, as if it was the best day of their lives. It probably was.

TBC

A/N: I don't know why but this chapter has been my favorite so far in Brian's story, and we've gotten the Hogwarts' school year into November. My muse and I had a fun time writing, so I hope you enjoyed it!


	8. Chapter 8

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM; I can't resist.

Spoilers: None

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for implied sexuality and some mild coarse language)

A/N: I may be arriving to the party late on this one, but there is a really sweet video over at Youtube that uses the song "Someone" by D.H.T. for ADMM (a.k.a. MMAD, especially the adorable Yule Ball scene). It is fantastic; thank you to Ladywraith99 (a.k.a. Catwoman99) who put it together.

Chapter 08/??

Common scents 

"Dumbledore and…? Where do you get these ideas?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Ugh, no way, Brian. No way they're married." He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment to continue working on his assignment.

Brian and Hermione smiled at each other, growing more interested at this turn in the conversation. "It's just my theory," said Brian. "It's not like I have proof or anything, dude." He checked his reference book again, scratching a note in it with his quill.

It was a weeknight evening in early December, and the Gryffindor common room was full of students chatting, relaxing and trying to work through an unending pile of homework before their holidays. Outside, Hogwarts castle and school grounds were blanketed with several feet of snow; the wind blew hard against the windows, reminding them of the cold across the mountains to the north and east of Black Lake. Judging by the odd, almost metallic smell on the air, even more snow was on the way.

But the students didn't mind it too much. A cheerful fire blazed in the fireplaces, and most of them sat comfortably in sweatshirts and light sweaters. Classes in the dungeons, such as Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, could be rather unbearable with the chill, as well as Astronomy up on Professor Sinistra's tall tower since it was an outdoor class, but for the most part, they were getting on fine with the weather and their studies.

Besides, Christmas was coming. They had only another week of classes before they'd be free for three weeks, returning to school for the second Sunday in January for resumption of the term on the following day.

On this particular evening, Brian, Hermione, Ron and Harry had their heads together working on their star charts for Astronomy, while Dean, Seamus, Neville and some of the others studied different subjects. The long table was stacked high with books and parchments as usual; and, Hermione had visited Madam Pince's library wing after dinner to check out a few more (she, Ron and Harry had a private on-going research project regarding one Nicolas Flamel).

Gryffindor prefect Percy Weasley had just told off several third-year boys for playing their music too loudly over by the windows, so Brian leaned closer before he spoke again.

"Listen, they're always together; watch at breakfast tomorrow, or dinner. Professor McGonagall takes his arm sometimes when they're walking in the hall," he offered, still amused by Ron's skepticism. "Maybe it's more than good old fashioned chivalry, huh?"

"What's the big deal? I think it's great if they're married," Hermione said, adding a few more planetary notations to her star chart of the winter sky. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, dabbing excess ink from his parchment. "Fine by me. It's not like they need our permission or anything, seeing as they are grown-ups and all." This caused quiet giggles from the youngsters.

Ron reddened a bit, fully aware that they found his squeamishness rather funny. He pointed a finger at the table, sensing a victory on at least one minor issue. "Okay, that's another thing. They're both pretty old, mind you. What about…"

"Ronald! Old does not mean dead, for goodness' sake," said Hermione, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. "Older people can still be in love you know. It's not illegal."

"How old do you reckon they are?" Harry wanted to know. "Professor Dumbledore has got to be at least a hundred if he's a day."

Brian shrugged. "Wow, yeah, I keep forgetting that wizards live so much longer than Muggles. But Ron, aren't your parents getting older? Mine sure are, and they love each other and all five of us kids too. You guys have, what, six kids total back home?"

"Seven, actually," Ron replied, blushing again. "My sister Ginny will start here next year."

Just then, Zoë and Crookshanks made their way down from the dormitories, slinking through the mass of legs and book bags to the large study table. The still tiny but thriving kitten made the leap to Brian's shoulder effortlessly, and once settled there, she began licking his hair and ear with her raspy tongue. He leaned to kiss her pink nose, accepting the tickles from her whiskers. The enormous ginger tabby jumped less gracefully into Hermione's lap, where she welcomed him with a friendly rub down his broad striped back. Both cats purred with warm contentment at having found their respective young wizard and witch for company.

The Weasley twins, and their best friend Lee Jordan ambled by the table, noticing Ron's pink ears as they headed for a break from their studies.

"Oi," said Fred good-naturedly. "Pinky boy!"

"What's up with little Ronnie, now then?" George finished.

Ron shook his head, determinedly getting back to his Astronomy homework, but Hermione chimed in: "We're taking a straw poll, and Ron's a bit squicked by the whole idea. Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, married or not?" She pantomimed marking a vote with quill and parchment, looking at the three of them expectantly.

Eyes dancing, the third-year trio laughed, delighted. "Oh, absolutely! He meets her after Quidditch matches all the time," Lee told them. As one of the main announcers for the school matches, Jordan had to put away the microphones and scoring equipment near the broom sheds most Saturday afternoons.

Brian had to give Ron an "I told you so" glance, which George intercepted quickly. He patted his youngest brother on the head. "Ronald's bothered since he used to walk in on Mum and Dad, all the time."

Lights of understanding dawned, and Brian nodded. "Oh, that would probably do me, buddy," he said softly. Ron gave him and Harry a grateful look.

"It's not like I planned to…you know," Ron stammered, finally laughing along with the others. "It just kept on happening. It was everyday for a while there last summer vacation."

Fred grinned impishly. "I mean there's no concrete evidence that Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore are an item, but Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout sure are." He enjoyed their slack-jawed looks of surprise. "That's a fact."

"Blimey," Ron whispered.

Hermione beamed, her face suffused with a romantic glow for a brief moment as she took in the news; she recovered quickly. "Well, good for them."

"Yeah, she's a real sweetheart," Brian said. "You should hear some of her stories she's been telling Neville and me down in the greenhouses; funny as hell in her days at school apparently."

They quieted guiltily as Percy strode by on his way to admonish someone on the other side of the common room. George leaned closer, whispering to the first years. "Even Perce has got himself a girlfriend now, a pretty lady too. Miss Penelope Clearwater, one of the Ravenclaw prefects."

His twin brother confirmed this bit of gossip. "Yep, snoggin' in the corridors they were."

Ron chuckled and patted Hermione's shoulder gently, his hand lingering longer on the soft sweater fabric than he'd intended; she didn't seem to mind. "You're lucky to be an only child."

The entire room quieted rather awkwardly as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall made her way through the Fat Lady's portrait just then. The Head of Gryffindor house did not often visit the common room, preferring to hold student conferences in her private office or classroom.

"Good evening, Professor," Percy called, making his way to her side immediately. "May I be of assistance?"

Fred, George, Brian and Ron all shared discrete grins at Percy's fawning solicitude, and Ron's ears turned pink yet again as Hermione kicked him under the table, eyeing him sternly.

The often forbidding witch nodded curtly and favored him with a slight smile. Her tartan green robes and matching witch's hat still looked pressed and fresh from that morning, even after a long full day of teaching. She was very well known for her strict manner and appearance, throughout the wizarding world. Some of the students couldn't help sitting up straighter in her presence, even outside of Transfiguration class.

"Actually, you can Mr. Weasley," McGonagall replied briskly. "I'm collecting names of all the students who will remain here at school for the Christmas holiday break." She paused and cleared her throat to speak more loudly, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop.

"Your attention please? Any student wishing to remain here at Hogwarts from December the 16th to January the 7th should see Prefect Weasley now to put their name on my list. Another copy will be posted in the Great Hall should you need to send an owl home first to make this determination. Thank you."

Percy caught the eyes of Fred, George and Ron right away, pointing to the parchment and clipboard he now carried. Ron nodded affirmatively.

"Yeah, Mum and Dad are going to Romania to see Charlie," he explained to Harry and Brian. "We'll get back home to the Burrow at summer break."

Having no desire to find himself at Number 4 Privet Drive if he didn't have to be there, Harry raised his hand to get Percy's attention. Brian did too.

"Way too far to get back to Maine, Professor," Brian said as McGonagall made her way to where he was sitting at the head of the table. "Mom and I already talked about travel plans since Dad wants to catch the Edinburgh Festival next year. Apparently he used to go all the time when he was younger; long trips from Massachusetts, I guess."

Minerva knew that, having corresponded with Juliette Rollins a few days prior, but she smiled kindly at the young American student. "Very good, Mr. Rollins. We have some Christmas traditions here I think you will enjoy. Oops…"

Brian blushed suddenly, rising to his feet and trying to catch Zoë as she leapt from his shoulder to McGonagall's. The kitten seemed extremely happy to see her, or at least extremely happy to see the pair of hawk feathers in her pointed hat.

"Silly little thing. I'm so sorry, Professor," he said, flinching as he heard sharp claws digging firmly into the emerald velvet of his Head of House's outer robe. Zoë "meowed" loudly and began to lick McGonagall's ear by way of a friendly greeting, just as she had done to Brian not long before.

Minerva shocked some of them when she chuckled, turning her face slightly to acknowledge the kitten's affectionate salutation, and allowing her to bump against the woman's chin briefly, greeting her as kittens always greet their mothers. "It's quite alright, Brian. No harm done." She reached up to disentangle searching paws from her hat and its decorative feathers. "And a good evening to you too, young one," she murmured softly as she handed Zoë back to her devoted human.

"Dear me," McGonagall exclaimed, wrinkling her nose at a sudden foul stench. "Weasley, you haven't…" She half expected to see Fred and/or George hurling Dungbombs in the study hall if past performances were any indication.

Fred Weasley gave her an innocent look (well, innocent for Fred). "No ma'am. Wasn't me."

George seconded that. "We're fresh out of our Dungbomb supply, Professor," he said, wrinkling his nose as well.

"Next Hogsmeade weekend after the holidays," Fred added, grinning and pinching his nostrils together. "Zonko's stop."

McGonagall glared at him mildly over her reading spectacles, a tiny smile touching the corner of her mouth. "I didn't hear that, laddie."

Brian groaned, sniffing his shirt. "It's me, sorry. Professor Sprout taught me a spell for deodorizing, but I can never get it to last very long." All of the first years at the long table burst out laughing at this; apparently it was becoming a frequent issue in the common room in recent days. None of them looked any worse for wear because of it.

Minerva smiled slightly at him, softening her gaze and including Seamus and Ron in it. "I thought you boys had finished your detention of spreading dragon…"

Seamus and Ron nodded, snickering. "We did, ma'am," said Finnegan. "About a week and a half ago."

Ron held up both hands to show her. "My blisters are pretty much gone now." He didn't mention that Draco Malfoy and his colleagues were still bitterly complaining about the lengthy and physically demanding detention they'd just completed for fighting back in November. Most students, including those in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, were gleeful at how much the six Slytherin boys had complained, while Ron, Brian and Seamus had borne it almost proudly.

Brian heaved a sigh. "Nev and I are working on some projects for Christmas in the greenhouse," he said, pulling off the offensive sweatshirt and standing bare-chested. "I guess I just got used to being stinky some of the time." This elicited more chuckles from his classmates, including Neville at the other end of the table.

"I hear that from Professor Sprout rather often," McGonagall muttered dryly. "What deodorizing scent were you trying for?" She pulled her wand from a pocket in her robes.

Brian shrugged, gathering his books as he gently nudged Zoë aside. He smiled sheepishly. "Citrus and chocolate are my favorites."

The Head of Gryffindor house barely stifled a laugh and a sob into a delicate cough. Oh Albus, she thought fondly, interested in what her husband's reaction was going to be. "Perhaps a bit too complicated. Try this: Aromatica citrona." She gave an expert flick of her wand as she said the incantation over him, and they were met with gentle wafts of a light, lemon-fresh fragrance. McGonagall turned to Neville.

"And what about you, Mr. Longbottom?" she asked in an amused tone.

The pudgy, round-faced boy shook his head, grinning shyly at her. "I don't get nearly as messy as Brian. Gran would kill me."

McGonagall winked at him, appreciating the humor (and she knew Neville's grandmother). Just then, Percy returned with her parchment and clipboard, which she carefully tucked under one arm having given it a quick glance, making note of the names written on it. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I'll see you lot in class tomorrow then. Good night."

As she exited through the Fat Lady's portrait, they could tell by her shoulders that she was chuckling softly to herself. This alone was enough to cause Fred, George and Lee to exchange looks of pleased surprise.

"Bloody hell," said Lee in an awed tone.

"Christmas spirit's turning old McGonagall into a right softie this year, my lads and lassies," George said. "More so than usual, if you can believe that."

Rollins grunted, shaking his head in a self-deprecating way as he rolled up his finished Astronomy homework and neatly stowed it in his book bag. "I still need another shower. See you guys in the morning."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairing: AD/MM; I can't resist.

Spoilers: _Very__ mild _spoilers for The Deathly Hallows. I know that there are some folks out there who have not yet read Book #7, and I promise not to ruin it for you. For the rest of you cheeky lot, close your eyes, click your heels together and repeat after me: "_alternate_ _universe_".

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for implied sexuality)

Chapter 09/??

Unwrapped and Undone 

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock; Supreme Mugwump; Esteemed Member of the International Confederation of Wizards; Defeater of the Wizard Grindelwald (c. 1945); Founder of the Order of the Phoenix; Proud holder of a place in "Chocolate Frog" Card collectors' hearts; and, Present Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been moved to happy tears when told by his wife of fifty-odd years that their only son's favorite fragrances or flavors were lemon and chocolate. And for all of his brilliance and perspicacity, he could not have told her why it struck such an emotional chord with him.

He whispered "_Dear boy_" before tears filled his eyes, trickling slowly down his craggy face and wetting his silvered beard.

"Well, Brian actually said 'citrus and chocolate'," she told her tearful husband, chuckling softly as she wiped his damp cheeks with her thumbs, holding his face in both of her hands and placing a gentle kiss on his very crooked nose. "But that's close enough for cricket, I think."

Less than one-quarter of the student body was still in residence at the castle, and the couple's conversation had started as they were readying for bed one evening, about a week before Christmas Day. Minerva was seated at her dressing table in a set of tartan green silk pajamas, brushing out her hair while Albus stood in the doorway of their large master bathroom suite watching her. He had also bathed and changed into silk pajamas, this time the scarlet and gold-trimmed ones. Relaxed holiday bedtimes had always been one of their favorite rituals over the decades together: he loved the color and texture of her long hair, and recalled that it had once been raven-black, just as his had once been the same color as deepest sunset auburn. It pleased him no end that he was the only person alive who was permitted to see her with her hair down, both literally and figuratively.

Though he had begun in his usual pose of lounging against the doorjamb while they chatted before bed, he was now seated on her backless cushioned chair, sobbing silently into her chest as she held him close. Minerva rubbed his upper back in soothing, random circles, crooning under her breath while he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and wept. It didn't happen very often, but she knew him well enough to understand that sometimes he too, needed a good cry when stresses became too great of a burden to bear. She was gladdened that he found her slender shoulders up to the task, and knew without doubt that he would willingly do the same for her. Only she had the privilege to know this side of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Tabby. Oh, dear me," her handsome wizard said finally, wiping at one eye with the back of a hand and sighing deeply as he leaned a hairsbreadth away from her embrace to look up at her. "I'm afraid I am a soggy mess."

She smiled, a tender smile for him alone, and nodded. "M-hmm, at the moment you sure are, and you're welcome, Sunshine. Here, this will help." Minerva had removed his spectacles some minutes before, and now conjured a warm, damp washcloth for him to wash his tear-stained face. While he freshened up a bit, she stepped behind him and began to brush out his long, silken hair; it was the exact color of moonlight.

Albus closed his eyes, now completely relaxed under her gentle but firm ministrations; she was always so careful with the tangles that formed throughout the day. He snapped his eyes open again to look at her in the mirror in front of them. An important thought had just occurred to him.

"You do realize Minerva, that this is our first ever Christmas with Brian," said Dumbledore, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly. "Ever," he repeated for emphasis and raised both eyebrows expressively.

McGonagall didn't answer right away, but continued to brush his hair while she composed her thoughts. "Albus, I do. And you may have me with the waterworks soon if I'm not careful, dearest heart." She winked at his reflection, happy to see that the glad twinkle in his eyes had already returned.

Albus chuckled, reaching to kiss her hand when she put the brush down and gathered his hair into a neat braid at the neck. "Christmas time is for families, after all. What about gifts? Our son should have presents to open on Christmas morning, even if we can't watch him until the banquet in the Hall."

Minerva came around to sit on his lap sideways, settling with an arm about his shoulders, and lacing the fingers of her other hand through one of his. "Juliette assures me that a few small parcels are on the way. They should be here any day now. And I believe Molly Weasley will be sending some things along too. For Brian and Harry, I mean. She doesn't know about him…I thought telling her might not be appropriate yet."

"I agree, though it may come up someday with the Order. But how wonderful and generous of her!" he commented. "Yes, I expect that Ron told her about Brian's and Harry's holiday plans. He really is a good friend to both; your first year lions seem a close bunch, don't they?"

"Indeed they do, and I'm so glad for it," she replied, leaning her forehead against his, breathing in his sweet lemon-candy scent. "School away from home is tough enough for these young ones today."

"So, I need to go shopping right away," Albus said brightly. "I think I'll head into Hogsmeade tomorrow morning. Would you like to join me?"

She shook her head, smiling enigmatically. "How can you shop for me if I'm along? No, I've already been to the shops actually, and can stay busy decorating the Great Hall with Filius, Pomona and Hagrid while you go."

He nodded, immediately agreeing with the wisdom of it. "I should invite Aberforth to come Christmas dinner," he said, chuckling ruefully. "Or at least give it a try." He shook his head rather sadly, his smile melancholy.

Aberforth Dumbledore was Albus' younger brother and owner of the "Hog's Head" pub in the wizarding village, Hogsmeade; their relationship had been rather strained for many years after the untimely death of their sister, Ariana. Neither brother had been back home to Godric's Hollow much at all since the funeral. She was buried with their parents: Percival, a wizard who died while imprisoned in Azkaban; and, Kendra, a Muggle-born woman. Coincidentally, James and Lily Potter were interred at the very same cemetery.

It was her turn to chuckle softly. "Try not to let him punch you in the nose this time, hmm," she said, quirking one eyebrow at her husband. "You don't want to be bloodied up for holiday photographs, do you?"

Albus grinned, blushing slightly. "_Yeeee_-_sss_, dear." He paused momentarily, deep in thought. "Do you think we should also invite Alastor for Christmas since Brian is here now?"

Minerva shrugged. "It might be too much to organize this soon, Darling," she said, always considerate of his ideas. "I'm sure that Moody would love to see him again after all this time, but you have to admit, he can be a little overwhelming when he's here at the school. Remember the last time he visited for New Year's Eve?"

Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, ex-Auror and Ministry malcontent, was an old and dear friend to both of them, and that was why she'd asked him so many years ago to stand as Brian's godfather. This had taken place just before they left Edinburgh and set sail for Salem, Massachusetts a few months after their son was born at St. Kentigern's Hospital there (a Wizarding hospital, very much like St. Mungo's in London). That being said, though, a lifetime of chasing Dark Wizards had left him changed, both physically and mentally. Moody's "constant vigilance" could be wearying for those around him, especially if he got well into his cups of holiday cheer. He'd tried to defend himself against the enchanted ceiling in Hogwarts' Great Hall several times over the years.

"True enough," Albus said, appreciating yet again that Minerva McGonagall was at his side, giving good advice. "We've got plenty of time to make better plans, though. Brian will have a birthday next February, won't he? His _twelfth_, if I calculated correctly."

"It's a leap year, you're right." Each settled momentarily into their own thoughts, and Minerva sensed that her husband could easily slip into work mode if she let him. She yawned and stretched, sinuously feline, just like her Animagus form. "It's getting late and a good night's sleep is what I need. And you, Albus Dumbledore, you'll be needing your energy for shopping tomorrow," she teased, kissing him on the end of the nose again.

Dumbledore shook himself as he came back into the present moment from thinking about whatever important matter it was, and she noticed that the wheels of his highly organized mind had started turning again (not that they ever really rested for long). He'd stay up all night in the office with Fawkes and sleeping old Headmaster portraits for company, answering Owl Posts, if she didn't take matters into her own hands, so to speak.

"Albus, please come to bed," she said seductively, kissing him full on the lips and standing to ease him up as well. Minerva tickled his forearms with feather light strokes of her fingertips.

He sighed; smiling the sheepish school-boy smile that she adored and rose with her. "Two tiny, tiny minutes, dear. I've just remembered one correspondence from the Ministry that…"

Minerva let him see the glint in her emerald green eyes, and she kissed him again, this time more passionately as she explored his lemon-drop addled tongue with hers. She pulled away gently when he groaned into her mouth, and was delighted in the fact that she now had his undivided attention. His jaw dropped audibly as he watched her conjure away her pajamas with a subtle flick of her wrist and walk slowly to their bed, completely and enticingly naked; and, without a backward glance of any kind.

"Albus, come to bed or I'll start without you," her lilting voice drifted over him in the near darkness. The subtle undercurrents of love and amusement in her tone were extremely seductive, and he knew full well that she was doing it on purpose. The tall, slender witch leaned to light a single pillar candle on the nightstand before climbing under the bedclothes.

Dumbledore also knew an early Christmas gift when he saw one.

**TBC!!**

A/N: I know that I'm fiddling around with timelines a little bit, but AU is a useful catch-all category for fan-fic writers. According to JKR canon and interviews, Harry was born July 31, 1980; Ron on March 1, 1980; etc., making 1991 "year1" at Hogwarts school and so on. However, since I'm using February 29, 1960 as Brian's birthday, he'd be "11" this year, 2007; thus, turning "12" on February 29, 2008. I was not a mathematics major at University, so there you go. JKR has recently changed AD's birth year from 1840 to 1881 for some reason. _Silly wabbit_.

St. Mungo is a real historical figure, considered by most to be the patron saint of Glasgow, Scotland; the first Bishop of Scotland; and, the patron saint of abandoned mothers (according to one story, his pregnant mother was abandoned by her own family, as was Voldemort's mother, ironically). "Kentigern" is just another name for Mungo (a nickname meaning "dear one"). Makes me appreciate how much research JKR actually did for the Harry Potter saga.


	10. Chapter 10

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM; I can't resist. FF/PS; Okay, okay, I'm convinced. Call off the fluffy plot bunnies (just kidding).

Spoilers: _Very__ mild _spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality).

A/N: a big thank you to "vangoghadmirer", "OSUSprinks", and "landslide" for terrific, albeit inadvertent, brainstorming of ideas! The lovely folks at the Charming Roots boards are very persuasive, indeed.

Chapter 10/??

Squid's Merrie Olde Christmas at Hogwarts 

Christmas Eve and all of her shopping was done; the Great Hall was decorated and all of the beautifully wrapped gifts were left with the house-elves for safekeeping. They would apparate the gifts for Albus to their private quarters, first thing in the morning, and would do the same for Brian's gifts to the Gryffindor common room. All in all, Minerva McGonagall was pleased with what she had found while on her shopping excursions, and had even found the time to secretly knit a few things for her husband and her son.

That afternoon, both she and Dumbledore had been kept busy with school business and correspondences, each in their private offices, but it had been a productive day. McGonagall had finished not one, but three articles for upcoming issues of "Transfiguration Today", and planned to give each final go-over before sending them by Owl Post to the editors in London…but that could wait until after Christmas Day.

It was for these reasons that she decided to reward herself for all of her hard work, and celebrate with a long, hot bath (the Asian spice bath beads that she'd received for her birthday had such a relaxing aroma). Since it was the holidays, she decided to splash out and asked their house-elf, Topher, for a bottle of his elven-made wine that he prepared in the Hogwarts kitchens with his own hands.

Just after nine o'clock in the evening, Albus made his way to their quarters, softly humming a Muggle Christmas carol under his breath (he had become fond of "Good King Wenceslas" over the years). The subtle aroma of the bath beads wafted over him, and he heard the faint music of a piano duet coming from the bathroom suite.

"Hmm," he murmured, trying to guess the composer while he set the privacy charms in place. "Haydn? No, Schubert. Lovely." Now he started humming along with this refined tune, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "Minerva dearest? Where are you?" Albus called out as he cast away his heavy outer robe, leaving his hat beside it, and stopped to grab a conservative handful of licorice snap from the candy jar on the table, noticing a small Christmas tree near the fireplace, decorated simply with enchanted tiny candles of red and green. The sitting area was warm and inviting since Topher had made sure the fire was well stoked for bedtime.

"I'm in here, Albus," Minerva called back at once. "Bring a wineglass, if you like."

The scene that greeted the handsome elder wizard was right out of a Muggle romance novel, and he couldn't help grinning at his wife as she lounged in the bath, bubbles all the way up to her soft, pale shoulders. Her eyes were closed and a few ringlets of hair had escaped a loose bun, damp from the moisture in the room. She held a glass of blood-red wine in her left hand; her right draped languidly over the edge of the porcelain bathtub, nearest to him. Minerva looked relaxed and happy, something that made his heart leap with gratitude. The candlelight served only to enhance this.

"Aren't you a vision of exquisite beauty for my unworthy eyes," he told her, coming to sit on the bench beside the tub. Albus leaned to kiss her softly on the lips, tasting the wine, and he chuckled. "What are we celebrating?" A passing thought of "_how much wine already_" rattled through his brain, causing a warm tingling to rush all over his body.

She opened her eyes into his twinkling (and somewhat amused) gaze, a shiver passing through her at the deep timbre of his voice. "I got a lot done today, Albus, and decided I deserved a time-out for myself," Minerva explained, taking a sip of the wine. She passed it to him to try, which he did.

"Very nice. Topher's?" Minerva nodded affirmatively and he winked, handing the wineglass back to her. "Ah…less likely for hangovers, or so he assures me."

She made a quiet noise of derision, which made them both laugh. "My shopping is done, my gifts are wrapped for Christmas morning, and I finished three articles to send in to the editor."

He gripped her free hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. "I am impressed, Minerva. And I too, have news. Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course I would." She waved gently toward the dressing table and the music softened even further so as not to overpower their conversation.

"Well, Aberforth was unable to change his Christmas plans, but he sends you his best and hopes we can get together at New Year's maybe…he and I actually had a pleasant pint together down at the pub. I just now received an owl from Alastor, and he will arrive tomorrow morning," Albus told her. "He said he was overdue for a visit, and I agreed wholeheartedly. I've already arranged for the house-elves to ready the guest suite here just off of our rooms. What do you think?"

"I think it's a fine idea, darling. It will be good to see him again, and Brian can meet him at the Christmas banquet." She finished the glass of wine and placed the empty stem-ware safely to one side. "Moody can meet the Weasley boys too, so it doesn't seem too out of the ordinary; he worked with Arthur for years, after all. It's also nice how these things just work themselves out sometimes, isn't it?"

Dumbledore leaned closer to her, smiling roguishly. "Indeed. Alastor asked me to give you something until he sees you tomorrow," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and then swiftly blowing a soft "_razzing_" sound into it.

She laughed, delighted. "The cheeky old bugger," she giggled then suddenly reached up to grab Albus' white ruffled shirtfront in both of her deceptively strong hands, and pulled him into the bath with her; Minerva actually startled a mild expletive out of him, and then he started laughing along with her. Bathwater sloshed over a number of the small Muggle-style scented candles, but none of them actually sputtered out.

"Oh bloody hell…Minerva Margaret McGonagall…" He conjured away his soaking wet clothes, and whispered further privacy charms for their quarters as he slid naked behind her in the tub, chuckling. "Father Christmas may only bring you a sack of coal lumps, young lady." Albus grumbled unconvincingly under his breath, but his wife had already seen his body's involuntary response to their skin-to-skin closeness. He smiled puckishly as he removed his glasses, resting them on a fluffy towel nearby.

Minerva reached to refill the wineglass, passing it to him with a naughty smile of her own. "Well, Father Christmas can keep his coal and whatever else he was planning on bringing tonight. _You_ are the only Christmas gift I'll ever need, Albus Dumbledore." She settled back into his chest with a contented sigh, adding more hot water and bubbles to the bath with a subtle flick of her wrist. It was turning out to be the most romantic Christmas Eve in many, many years.

Christmas morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was filled with snow flurries and icy, angry winds outside, but none in the castle gave it a second thought. Up in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, Ron Weasley was the first one awake, a life-long habit, and he raced down to their decorated tree in the common room.

"Wake up, Harry! Wake up, Brian," he called loudly upstairs. "Oi, come on, you guys…it's Christmas!"

Harry and Brian both had gone to bed the night before with no expectations for the day beyond food and fun. Potter had never celebrated a wizard's Christmas that he could recall; and, Rollins had never celebrated Christmas in the U.K. that he could remember. Even at this early hour, it was promising to be an interesting day.

"Merry Christmas," Ron said when they peeked groggily over the banister, yawning and murmuring their replies. "Come down and see."

Casting a happy look of surprise at one another, they raced barefooted along the stairs to the common room. Clad only in their flannel pajamas, ignoring the chilly floors for now, they accepted identically wrapped lumpy parcels from a sweater-wearing Weasley. Ron's sweater looked hand-knitted: maroon with a golden "R" on the chest. He didn't really like the color (even as a Gryffindor), but that wasn't the point at all. All three boys ignored the fact that they still had "bed-head" hair-dos.

Harry opened his first, while Brian plopped down on the hearthrug to unwrap his: a navy blue sweater with a red "B" on the front of it. Harry's was a forest green, emblazoned with a yellow "H".

"I've got presents?" Harry asked, still looking rather dumfounded at the pile of gifts that Ron was scooting towards the armchair with his foot. One year, at Christmas with the Dursleys, he had received a toothpick taped to a rather shabby card. Most years, he just received Cousin Dudley's broken and unwanted items; not exactly happy holiday memories.

"Well yeah, what'd you expect, Sillius Soddus?" Ron replied, grinning. He popped another Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth, finding it to be an acceptable spearmint flavor (as opposed to booger, ear wax or vomit), and went on to explain: "The sweaters are from my Mum, guys. Every year she knits a new one, for as long as I can remember. It's pretty much a Christmas tradition at our house."

"Thanks, Ron. That was really sweet of her to do that," Brian told him sincerely. He pulled the sweater over his pajama top and smoothed it down to admire the fit. "This is awesome."

Ron's ears turned bright pink, pleased at his friends' reactions. "I told her about your favorite baseball hat." He tossed Zoë a wadded-up paper ball from one of his gifts, which she batted before heading back up into the Christmas tree, hoping to destroy a few more decorations before breakfast and her mid-morning nap by the fire.

The Gryffindor first years made short work of the all of the wrapping paper: fudge from Mrs. Weasley; different Honeyduke's sweets to each from Hermione; hand-made carvings from Hagrid; and, so on. Harry received an Invisibility cloak from an anonymous benefactor (it once belonged to his father, James, probably while he was at school), and Brian received several pairs of hand-knitted woolen socks, also anonymously. Each pair was decorated with shooting stars in yellow yarn, racing across fields of blue, green or red.

While Harry and Ron checked out the Invisibility cloak, Brian still had more packages to unwrap, a fact which rather surprised him. One was a tiny jewelry box, and in it he found a traditional gold claddagh ring (with its pair of hands holding a heart and crown) that had his birthstone, amethyst, on the crown. As he read the inscription of "_cuisle mo chroi_", he assumed that it was from his foster mother, Juliette (the tag had his name on it, but there was no indication of "from"). She sometimes read Gaelic stories to her children, and he knew that it meant "beat of my heart" (or, more simply, "sweetheart").

The next package, also namelessly given, was considerably larger and as he pulled the packing tissue from the box, he had to show the other boys what it was: full dress robes, in a dark blue-black silk. The outfit also had a matching wizard hat, just his size. "Whoa, this is, um…interesting looking. When would I get to wear this?" he asked Ron, who had more experience with wizard-worldly stuff. "School fancy-schmancy-dos?"

Ron, admiring the color of the robes, grimaced in sympathy as he recognized them for what they were: Molly and Arthur Weasley had robes such as these for attending Ministry functions. "Unfortunately, yeah, dances and things like that. It's dress robes."

"Why do you say _unfortunately_?" Harry wanted to know. He had to chase after a chocolate frog he'd just opened, catching it before it leapt into the blazing fireplace.

"Can you dance?" Ron grinned, raising both eyebrows at his friend. All three boys shook their heads and laughed out loud at the very idea, but suddenly Brian paused in holding the dress robes up to his chest.

"Oh, _dammit_. I bet these are from my Mom…" he said, a somewhat pained look on his face.

Ron and Harry snickered. "So you think you can dance?" asked Harry, incredulous.

Rollins blushed, redder even than a Weasley boy (which was saying something). "_Shit_," he whispered, then laughed along with them. "Okay, Fred and George and the rest of those guys do not need to know this, alright?" He waited for them to nod, ignoring their teasing facial expressions.

"When I was about six, I lost a bet with my mother. I had to pick: either piano lessons at the neighbor's—Mrs. Bouvin—or dance lessons as Mom's partner," Brian explained, shaking his head and trying to glare at them. He failed miserably, and couldn't help giggling too. Ron actually had tears in his eyes, he was laughing so hard.

"Your Dad didn't want to take the classes?" he asked, a little breathless.

Brian sighed. "My sister, Kelly, lost the same bet. She was Dad's class partner."

Ron got wide-eyed as realization dawned. "It was posh ballroom, wasn't it?" His classmate nodded, still embarrassed.

"_Oh shit_, is right, mate," said Harry. "You can borrow this if need be." He held out the Invisibility cloak, grinning.

Brian ate a chocolate frog, recovering his good mood quickly, and was pleasantly surprised with the last three packages he opened: a fresh box of Oreo cookies from his siblings (which he planned to share in the coming days); a new pair of brown snow boots and ski overalls from his parents; and, the largest tin of lemon drops he'd ever seen. He guessed the last was from Headmaster Dumbledore, though it too, had arrived unsigned.

Fred and George Weasley made an appearance in the common room shortly thereafter, each wearing their home-made and individually-lettered sweaters proudly. Even Percy joined them, though he had to be "helped" into his sweater by the twins. He protested feebly when they manhandled him, but didn't seem to mind too terribly when they offered him a fresh egg and ham buttie that they'd liberated from the kitchens (an entire tray of breakfast sandwiches appeared soon after on the long wooden table; the boys hadn't realized how hungry they were until they saw the platter of food). Brian watched the rough-housing fondly; the Weasley brothers reminded him of his own family back home in Maine. He and Harry were eventually dragged into the fray, to balance things out; three on three.

Christmas morning in Hufflepuff tower was dark and peaceful, especially in the private quarters of its Head of House. Even the ghosts were quiet, but only the Fat Friar and the Gray Lady ever came up here. Not a creature was stirring, save one. Filius Flitwick reluctantly left the warmth of his sleeping wife because he had to go to the bathroom. He smiled to himself as he was washing up, deciding to go ahead and brush his teeth while he was there.

His whole body, all 3'6" of him, tingled with anticipation as he tip-toed back to the four-poster bed. The only sound now was the scritch-scratch of his pajama pants legs; the only light was a faint glow in the hearth as he whispered a charm to illuminate the Christmas tree in their sitting room. It was tastefully decorated in tiny red, green and yellow candles. Filius whispered another charm, this one of his own creation, to allow the heavy bedroom drapes on the eastern window to open slowly, at the same pace as the rising of the Sun. Both he and Pomona Sprout had always had a romantic thing for sunrises and sunsets.

He cuddled against her back as he eased under the blankets, quiet as a mouse. The Charms Master planned to wake her softly, slowly and tenderly; and nearly chuckled out loud as he reached to caress the creamy skin of her neck with his lips, brushing aside the thick brown curls. He loved her hair: it always smelled of vanilla and tickled his nose. Flitwick thought it was her best feature.

"Mmph," she mumbled. "Filius, what time is it?"

He looked toward their alarm clock, his eyes adjusting easily to the dim light coming from the Christmas tree. "Half past six, dear. Plenty of time until the banquet."

She sighed, rolling onto her stomach and sleepily crushing the pillow in her forearms. "Oh good. Merry Christmas, my darling," Pomona said, still half asleep.

Filius stifled a laugh, sheer joy bubbling out of him as he kissed her ear. "Merry Christmas to you too, my darling." He smoothed away more of her hair, clearing a path for him to kiss or nibble at her neck and ear.

Thoroughly enjoying his task, he rubbed her back, digging in slightly at the places he knew were often sore from gardening, and continued to place tiny, tickling kisses on the back of her neck. He was finally rewarded by a low groan of pleasure that escaped her lips, barely muffled by the feather pillow.

"Filius? What are you doing?" she asked, raising her head a bit off the pillow to speak more clearly, involuntarily groaning again as he utilized light scratches of his fingernails on her lower back. That was one of her few weak spots, and he knew it: after thirty years of marriage to this kind-hearted witch, he had willingly memorized her body's responses (and she his, if the truth be told).

"Who, me? Nothing dear," he murmured into her shoulder. "Shall I stop?"

Her whole body shook when she giggled, a sound and sensation which made the little wizard's knees go weak. "I didn't say that, sweetness." Pomona reached over to the nightstand and popped a butter-mint into her mouth. Thundering hippogriffs couldn't have chased her out of their bed now, and thoughts of checking on the greenhouses before breakfast swiftly vanished from her mind.

Careful not to crush her husband or his talented hand, she rolled over onto her back and opened her arms to embrace him. "I have been very good this year, Santa," she continued, her dark eyes sparkling. A flick of her wrist and both her nightgown and his pajamas disappeared.

It took all of his self-control to not squeak with surprise, instead chuckling softly into the smooth skin of her upper chest. "Indeed? Why yes, I believe you have, my dear."

Christmas morning in the private quarters of the Headmaster of Hogwarts found him tip-toeing quickly, still pajama-clad, to gather a breakfast tray while his wife (and Deputy Headmistress) busied herself in their bathroom suite. He grinned when he heard her humming his favorite Muggle Christmas carol. Looking down at the tray of hot coffee, scones and raspberry jam on their card table, he decided it was perfect. Whispering the appropriate charms, Dumbledore unlocked the privacy wards on their rooms: they were expecting a firecall from Alastor Moody any time now, letting them know he was on his way by the Floo-network.

As promised, Topher had arranged for the gifts to be placed under their decorated tree (which, this year, had been re-decorated for Christmas morning with tiny fluttering phoenixes being chased by little tabby cats). Albus resisted the urge to check the tags and shake his gifts to try to guess their contents. After last night, which started in the bath and moved sometime later to their bed, he decided to wait and see if he needed to order in a bigger breakfast; at his age, he needed to keep up his strength, after all.

Minerva had brushed her hair and tucked it into her usual bun, but he was happy to see that she'd decided to stay in her PJs for a while longer…usually she was awake and dressed for the day before he was. She padded over to him in their warm sitting area, smiling and relaxed.

"Merry Christmas, Sunshine," she said, snaking her arms around his neck and reaching up for a kiss.

His heart skipping a beat or two, Albus grinned down at her. "Merry Christmas, Tabby. Are you hungry?" He held her slim waist as they danced on the hearth rug to whatever music was playing in their heads.

Minerva grinned back. "Ravenous, actually," she said with a chuckle. "Have you been reading that Muggle magazine on men's health again? I think that's the title…"

He pulled her into a shallow dip, gently easing her back to her feet (Dumbledore was an excellent ballroom dancer). "Who, me? Shall I stop?" Albus asked innocently, but the sparkling in his crystal-blue eyes was positively pornographic.

"I didn't say that, sweetness." They both giggled, coming closer for another kiss. A cough from the fireplace got their attention.

"You two lovebird slug-a-beds up yet, or shall I come back later?" They immediately recognized the gruff voice as one Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.

Minerva laughed, delighted to see his face. "Alastor! Come in, come in. We were about to sit down to breakfast." Behind her, she could hear Albus conjuring a third place setting at the table, and could smell the sausages that had arrived.

"That's not what I saw, McGonagall darlin'." He raised one eyebrow suggestively while his magical left eye whirred in place.

Dumbledore held up a coffee cup so he could see it from the fireplace. "We need to get you a lady friend," he teased. "Come on in, lad."

"Who says I haven't got one?" was the growled reply. "Aye, back in a flash. That oughtta give you plenty of time for a quick shag, you randy buggers." With that, he was gone in a quick burst of orange flames and Minerva didn't have time to throw anything at him. Yet.

TBC

A/N: up next, Christmas banquet in the Great Hall. Thank you for reading this far, and for sticking with "Brian" and me in this slowly developing story. More to come!


	11. Chapter 11

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Spoilers: none.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality).

A/N: this continues where we left off in chapter 10; it is still Christmas Day at Hogwarts. I love the Christmas scenes of the first book and wish they could have elaborated in the film. **sigh**

Chapter 11/??

Christmas Crackers 

The Great Hall was breathtakingly spectacular. As usual, the decorating committee of Flitwick, Sprout, McGonagall and Hagrid had outdone themselves. A dozen fir trees, none less than twelve or fifteen feet high, were glittering with hundreds of tiny enchanted candles of red and green, and festooned with golden bubble garlands (a Filius Flitwick specialty for many years). The ghosts of Hogwarts castle had graciously agreed to provide the musical accompaniment to the meal, and softly sang traditional Christmas carols; some of them had obviously been practicing.

Boughs of holly and sprigs of mistletoe ran all along the window sills, and even along the head table; and, the enchanted ceiling appeared as a sunny, clear blue sky (cold and sunny had always been Dumbledore's favorite weather). It matched the outside because, as if by magic, the snow-bearing clouds outside had been blown away earlier that morning, leaving behind a pristine white winterscape on the castle grounds.

The long wooden house tables had been replaced, at Headmaster Dumbledore's request, by smaller tables of four or six seats each, allowing the students who had stayed behind at school for the holidays to sit in more intimate groups of family and friends. Interestingly enough, none but the Head of Slytherin House, Potions Master Severus Snape, remained in residence for the Christmas break. All of the Slytherin students had gone home or abroad for their holiday jaunts.

It was just as well. Despite their fierce competitiveness on the Quidditch pitch, the students of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor got along fairly well with one another. On Christmas Day, a contest of sorts often arose to see which of them could exhibit the most "house spirit". The goal of the day (agreed upon by the prefects) was to get the most notice by the faculty members without disrupting the banquet. It promised to be a good time (and this was a Hogwarts tradition which Albus Dumbledore cheerfully encouraged).

While the tower bells tolled the noon-hour across the campus, the Heads of Houses were greeting students as they came in, and most of the faculty wore somewhat dressier robes than usual: Professor Flitwick wore a flattering cut of turquoise silk robes, a matching wizard's hat upon his head; Professor Sprout wore yellow satin, trimmed with powder blue piping, and was looking positively radiant as she welcomed students to the Great Hall (her husband couldn't stop blushing every time he looked at her…it had been _that_ sort of Christmas morning for them). Her Hufflepuff students were especially complimentary; they loved her with and without gardening soil on her robes.

Professor McGonagall, opting for a red tartan robe this year (it was designed by Madam Malkin herself), was distracted from her conversation with Flight Instructor Rolanda Hooch by loud and boisterous singing as a group of boys came around the corner in the entry foyer: she couldn't suppress a smile when she recognized them as her Gryffindor students, led by Brian (he was apparently teaching them a Christmas song). All six were decked out for the holiday banquet in their Molly Weasley specially-hand-knitted "letter sweaters", and around their necks, their maroon and gold House scarves. Severus Snape quietly took his leave as they approached, making his way up to the head table: he wanted to be sure to keep close tabs on Professor Quirinus Quirrell as Dumbledore had requested (although both men sought to avoid Alastor Moody's clever gaze as much as possible…his visit came as a shock to them, but for different reasons).

The four Weasley brothers, along with Harry and Brian, came to a marching halt at the entryway, grinning and in high spirits (even Percy the uptight prefect, which Minerva found to be a pleasant surprise). "A very Merry Christmas, Professors," said Fred, Brian, Ron and Harry in unison.

"And Happy Boxing Day tomorrow," added George, a customary impish glint in his eyes. Percy just nodded politely to both of the witches, shrugging and raising his hands helplessly in what was clearly a "_what-can-I-do-with-them_?" gesture.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said McGonagall, smiling at each one in turn (George had been right about "Christmas spirit" affecting her more than usual for some reason). "Merry Christmas to you as well."

"Any interesting gifts this year, lads?" asked Hooch. "We should have excellent Quidditch weather for January when the term resumes." Her rather sharp hawk-like features smoothed pleasantly when she smiled. Fred, George and Harry all played for their house team, and she knew that Ron was an avid fan.

"I got a new Chudley Cannons poster, Professor," offered Ron. "The old one was looking a bit tattered." He often helped the Flight Instructor with broomstick flying demonstrations during her tutoring sessions; it gave him an excuse to fly more often since first-years were not allowed their own brooms at school.

Just then, Hagrid and Pomona Sprout came by the group, pulling a wooden cart heavily laden with many varieties of tomato plants. "Brian?" called Professor Sprout. "We could use your help with handing these out." The boy chuckled happily when he saw the lush and healthy green plants they'd grown as Christmas gifts for the faculty.

"Yes, ma'am. Be right there," he replied. "Hey guys, save me a seat please?" As he hurried to join the Herbology Master and the half-giant Groundskeeper, the rest of the boys headed in to the Great Hall to find a table.

Rolanda Hooch watched Brian discretely, shaking her head a little when he was nearly knocked over by a friendly pat on the back from Hagrid, and turned to her old schoolmate. "You and Albus must be very pleased, Min," she whispered, leaning closer. "He gets on well here, doesn't he?" She placed a gentle hand on Minerva's arm, noticing the tender look on the proud mother's face; of the women on staff, only Pomfrey and Hooch knew about Brian.

"Oh yes, very. I had two young men expecting gifts this year," McGonagall whispered back, giving her friend a conspiratorial wink. "Lots of shopping and wrapping and carrying on."

"Which you absolutely enjoyed your little heart out, all over Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley," Hooch commented dryly, a smile quirking her lips.

Minerva sighed. "I won't deny that, Rolanda." As she watched Professor Sprout giving her son a Christmas hug and a kiss on the cheek, she had to fight down a mildly jealous twinge. The green-eyed witch certainly didn't want to appear a "green-eyed monster" for the holidays (and, as yet of course, Pomona Sprout was unaware of Brian's true identity). "Shall we go in, my dear?"

"Good idea, it looks like Albus is ready to get started; nice robes this year by the way, on both of you," Rolanda observed, smiling broadly now. "I was wondering, Minerva…who is this '_Batman'_ bloke the Gryffindor boys were singing about just then? I don't think I've ever heard that version of 'Jingle Bells' before."

McGonagall shrugged, shaking her head. "And why does he smell? I have no idea…must be something the Americans put on at Christmas time." They shared a laugh, and made their way up to the Head Table. Albus Dumbledore had just risen to give a short speech to begin the holiday banquet.

The Headmaster, resplendent in his purple robes with stars and moons embroidered in gold thread, and matching wizard's hat (gifts from his wife that morning), held his arms open wide in welcome. He looked at each table, his blue eyes twinkling happily. "Ladies and gentlemen, Merry Christmas," he began, nodding at the murmured replies that came to him from all around the Great Hall.

"Thank you to the decorating committee for another marvelous job," Albus continued, looking along the faculty table. "And I see that you young people have carried on with wearing your House-pride on your sleeves, backs and heads, so well done, indeed."

Several of the tables of students cheered and whistled back to him in acknowledgement. He smiled benignly in return. "Just a brief reminder that the Forbidden Forest is still out of bounds, even during the holiday break, and Mr. Filch has asked me to jog your memories that the curfew hours in the castle are still in effect. Thank you."

He paused to nod at Argus Filch, who was giving him a satisfied look from his semi-private table off to the right of the faculty seats; his cat, Mrs. Norris was winding her way around his shins. "And now, before an old man gets carried away with giving another doddering speech…let the feast begin." He clapped his hands twice before returning to his large, throne-like chair, leaning over slightly to hear something that Alastor Moody wished to share with him; Albus nodded and his shoulders shook slightly as he chuckled.

"_Ooos_" and "_ahhs_" of pleased surprise, especially from the first year students in the room, sounded throughout the Great Hall as the roast turkeys, mounds of potatoes and all the other holiday meal accoutrements appeared from the kitchens. It was a holiday meal unlike any that Harry had ever seen, and everything tasted simply delicious. Brian, who had enjoyed plenty of turkey dinners growing up (Juliette Rollins was an excellent chef…and most of the fruit and vegetable produce came from her own garden), was far more interested in the wizard's crackers. As an American, he'd never even heard of ordinary Muggle Christmas crackers, much less the wizarding kind, so Harry was able to describe them as cardboard tubes filled with little gifts, a paper hat and a joke or motto to be read aloud at the table. He went on to describe that they kind of "popped" noisily when you pulled one apart.

From Harry's open-mouthed laughing reaction, and the undisguised wicked glee with which Fred and George pulled several crackers in quick succession, Brian decided that wizard's crackers were an excellent Hogwarts holiday item: they didn't just "pop", they went off like miniature cannons, spouting purple, blue or red smoke as the gifts dropped onto the table between the participants. Harry and Brian had plenty of gifts from the crackers, and saw that at the head table, Dumbledore had already exchanged his wizard hat for a purple-flowered bonnet (and, interestingly, it still matched his new purple silk robes; the outer one a heavier velvet). The Headmaster, seated between Professor Flitwick and a wizard whom Harry did not know, was laughing merrily at a joke the Charms Master had just read to him. Minerva split her time between quiet dinner conversation with Hagrid and Rolanda Hooch, and surreptitiously watching her son as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself (she had promised that he'd enjoy the Hogwarts' traditions, after all).

By the time they were ready to leave the table after desserts of Christmas pudding and cake, both Harry and Brian were loaded down with additional gifts from the "crackers": Harry had a brand-new wizard's chess set that he was anxious to break in (Brian got one too); Brian had nearly a dozen new "Sugar Quills" (which were perfect for chewing on in class, when you needed a sweet, but didn't want to appear to be skiving off from work); and, both boys had navy blue rear-admiral's hats, fully equipped with fluffy, white emu feathers…the live mice had long since disappeared. Although he wasn't sure what to do with it yet, Harry also had a "Grow-your-own-warts" kit (and for which George Weasley expressed possibly making a trade later on).

It was somewhat of a surprise when the boys noticed that Professor Dumbledore and the other wizard were making their way down from the head table (the other faculty either starting to clear out for the rest of the afternoon or to call for more elven-made wine and butterbeer or firewhisky), stopping here and there to shake hands and exchange greetings with some of the students. Percy was the one who finally identified the visitor.

"That's Alastor Moody," he whispered. "An Auror from the Ministry…I think he used to work with Dad from time to time. Half the cells of Azkaban are filled thanks to him."

"Oh, you mean 'Mad-Eye Moody'?" said Fred, sounding atypically awed. "I think you're right!"

"Wicked," added George. Ron just gulped loudly, not able to say anything.

Brian wasn't sure what all of this meant (neither was Harry), but he watched with interest as the Headmaster and Moody came over to their table. The man was rather frightening looking if one stopped to think about it: his right eye was normal, if a bit scowling, but his magical left eye whirred in place, sometimes spinning rapidly around to reveal nothing but a shocking whiteness. His left leg was artificial; metal of some sort, and it seemed to be very heavy. His face was deeply scarred and leathery, almost as if it had been carved out of gnarled wood.

"Gentlemen! What wonderful sweaters and Gryffindor scarves you all have," Albus began, stopping next to Brian's chair. "I'd like to introduce my guest for the day: Alastor Moody, a good friend from the Ministry…"

"Ex-Ministry," Moody growled. He looked at each boy, lingering longest on Harry (or more correctly, the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead). None of them noticed, but Moody's face took on a look of frank curiosity when he saw Brian watching the Headmaster politely, but intently, while he spoke to them.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, sorry, _ex-Ministry_, although I believe he worked with Arthur Weasley for many years. Alastor, may I present Brian Rollins, our first ever Hogwarts student from America…Cherryfield, Maine actually."

Brian surprised the other guys when he stood to shake hands with Moody. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir." He met the older man's gaze without flinching (and Alastor immediately recognized what Albus and Minerva had told him at breakfast earlier that morning…the boy had a certain "look" about him: a combination of McGonagall's focused directness and Dumbledore's fantastically blue eyes).

Now it was Alastor's turn to chuckle at the boy's fearless reaction and his distinctly un-British accent, favoring Brian with a genuine smile. "Aye, me and all; far from home are you, lad? You gotta cross a big ocean to get to Hogwarts…" Moody's accent sometimes thickened into Highland Scots dialect, making his growl even more pronounced.

Rollins shrugged in his friendly way, understanding the older wizard perfectly. "I've been made very welcome here, sir. Thank you." He grinned when he saw Dumbledore's rather amused wink directed at him over Moody's right shoulder.

Harry and the rest followed Brian's lead, standing when they were introduced. "Potter, I knew your Mum and Dad. They're missed," was Moody's gruff reply, and then he shook hands with the four Weasley brothers. "Aye, I still know _your_ folks, lads. Where are they for the holidays this year?"

Percy found his voice first; the twins and Ron seemed uncharacteristically intimidated by the man. "Romania, Mr. Moody, sir. They've gone to visit Charlie and his dragon research station."

"Excellent, give 'em my best. Off you go, then," he growled as Harry, Brian and the Weasleys gathered up their Christmas cracker items from the table, and then turning to mock-glare at Dumbledore. "Alright, where's that firewhisky you promised me after all of this socializing, laddie?"

Albus laughed, tossing his head back cheerfully at the way his old friend regained his grouchiness (and it had been decades since he'd been called a "_laddie_" by anyone). "My office," he replied, ushering Moody ahead of him. "Oh yes, Brian? Thank you for the gift of the beautiful tomato plant; I've not heard of a 'Lemon boy jubilee' variety before." His eyes twinkled over the half-moon spectacles as he looked fondly down at his son. "It already has fruit on it!"

Brian was pleased but he blushed at the compliment from the Headmaster. "I thought you might enjoy them the best, sir. And they're very good for you as well."

As promised, Albus walked Moody up to his office, and broke out his special bottle of single-malt firewhisky. The two friends greeted Fawkes, and then sat out on the balcony, with shielding and privacy charms in place, to watch the grounds below them. It looked like furious snowball fights had broken out in numerous locations on the campus. The day was still cold and clear, but their outer robes were heavy enough to keep off the chill as they enjoyed the afternoon sunshine.

"But an _American_? Bloody hell, Albus," Moody continued as Dumbledore expertly refilled his glass with a generous measure. Albus decided to go lightly on the whisky and conjured a few ice cubes to dilute his own drink; he pointedly ignored the disgusted and teasing look from Alastor.

"I hope they didn't ruin him over there," Alastor grumbled. "Did they?"

Dumbledore chuckled, stretching out both legs from his deck chair, hoping to ease a muscle ache in his back (maybe he could ask Minerva for a back rub later…). "Not at all, you remember Frank and Juliette Rollins from our fact-finding trip to Salem in what, the early 1950s? They agreed to become his 'protectors' and adopted him when Minerva and I arrived from Boston that summer of 1960; it looks like they moved from Massachusetts to Maine sometime after that…with all five of their adopted children."

"Aye," Moody replied, stretching his own legs and removing the artificial one with a soft metallic "click". He stood it upright beside his chair, like some strange end table. "Damn thing's a right nuisance. Anyway, yes, I remember them; and like them very much. They're both in the U.S. version of the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Relations right?"

"_Department_ of Magic, the Americans call it I believe, and European Muggle Relations, specifically," said Albus. "Frank Rollins also taught Classics Literature and Languages at a University over there; and, they raised Brian completely as a Muggle…I think both stopped all use of magic for a number of years." Alastor grimaced at the thought of abandoning the use of magic, but one had to know him well to even be able to recognize that particular facial expression.

"Did you ever figure out his aging issue? He looks eleven or twelve, just like the rest of the first years you've got here."

Dumbledore gave a tiny shrug, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he swirled the ice cubes and amber liquid in his glass. "No idea, and I have looked, believe me; apparently he only ages a year on exactly his birthday, 29 February. Could be some unexpected combination of my magic with Minerva's…but it doesn't seem to have any adverse effects that any of us have noticed. He really is a _jolly good fellow_, your god-son."

"Aye, well, good to hear it, then," Moody said in his usual growl, but Albus could tell that he was thrilled by the updates. "And how is my god-son's magic coming along at this school of yours?"

"Professor Sprout tells me in her progress reports that he has an extremely high natural talent for Herbology, the best she's seen in years," said Dumbledore, his eyes shining with paternal pride. "She thinks he'll do well in Care of Magical Creatures, too. Charms, Astronomy, and Transfiguration are also getting very strong marks." He made sure he emphasized that last course, taught by Minerva McGonagall, the boy's mother; she had trained under Moody as an Auror before coming to teach at Hogwarts.

"And the rest?" Alastor was getting into a groove with his questioning, and Albus had to chuckle at their role reversal.

"Satisfactory in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and fair in Potions."

Moody snorted derisively. "How is the 'greasy dungeon bat' doing these days? He and Quirrell were as nervous as vestal virgins at a Bacchanalia when they saw me at the head table."

"Severus is just fine, thanks, and watching Professor Quirrell at my behest," Dumbledore commented in a tone which brooked no argument, even from an impertinent old friend and colleague.

Alastor raised one hand, like a gladiator acknowledging a clear hit. "Fair enough, Albus. Back to bonny wee Brian then…what's his weak area, if he has one, d'you reckon?"

Dumbledore laughed, deep in his chest this time. "Broomstick flying, just like me! But he swims quite well, all the way across Black Lake when it isn't frozen over, and without using magic." Albus' eyes twinkled at the memory from September.

Moody looked surprised. "You're joking? What about the squid and the merpeople?" He reached for the bottle on the table between them and refilled his glass; Dumbledore demurred with a subtle wave of his hand. "Aye, McGonagall darlin' might want an _encore_ for her afternoon tea." Albus reddened slightly as he'd been thinking the very same thing, but he sure as hell wasn't going to share the thought with this cheeky wizard, best friends or not.

"His foster brothers in Maine nicknamed him 'Squid' some years ago, and he has befriended our giant squid…whose name is Elliot by the way, and who is in search of a mate from the North Sea. I confirmed all of this in a conversation with Merchus the merchieftainess." Dumbledore went on to describe the events which transpired back in November, when Brian had been heavily involved in a brawl on the castle steps. Moody's jaw dropped in undisguised admiration when Dumbledore described the disciplinary hearing that followed, and he chuckled about the boy's explosive temper (he knew _exactly_ which parent had passed that trait on).

"He's a scrapper too? That's brilliant," he whispered, almost to himself. "Good lad." Moody finished his drink and re-attached his artificial limb to stand up. Albus rose with him and they watched a half-dozen or so students hurling both Charmed and un-charmed snowballs at each other. Their faint shouts and laughter barely reached the seventh floor tower; both wizards guessed that it had to be the Gryffindor boys.

"Thank you for the drink, my friend," Alastor said tiredly, checking the height of the Sun with a discerning glance. "I'd better go have a nap if I'm going to take your gold at cards tonight."

"Good idea, the guest suite can be reached from my office here," said Albus as they embraced roughly. "You can set whatever wards you wish."

"Aye, I will," replied Moody, yawning. "He's a good lookin' lad, Albus, thanks to his mother."

Dumbledore winked, grunting his agreement. "Rest well. Our house-elf, Topher will get you whatever you need, and I'll most likely be here in the office catching up on Ministry correspondences."

Moody nodded and clumped off to the guest suite. The Headmaster stretched his back again, watching the students on the castle grounds below: one figure, well-bundled against the cold, was trotting out on the frozen lake toward a small blow-hole, about three feet across.

Albus smiled; it had to be Brian heading out for a quick shout down to Elliot. When the lake froze over, he knew that its inhabitants had to go much deeper to where the water still flowed freely (but he hoped his son wasn't planning on swimming today…much too cold for that).

TBC

A/N: More to come, and it's still the holiday break at Hogwarts. We need a ballroom dance with further MMAD-ness and CharmingRoots!


	12. Chapter 12

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Spoilers: mild spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: JKR made brilliant use of a number of revelatory plot devices in the Harry Potter saga, not least of which was the "Mirror of Erised". She often referred (in interviews) to this chapter in Book #1 as one of her favorites; mine too.

Chapter 12/??

The Mirror of Erised and the River of Dreams 

When Harry discovered the Mirror of Erised in an unused classroom (while making good use of his Invisibility Cloak in the Restricted section of the library, he'd nearly been caught out by Snape and Filch…and ducked into the first open doorway he encountered), he could never have predicted that his fellow Gryffindor first-year Brian Rollins was having a somewhat similar experience during the middle of Christmas night. Lucky fellow Ron Weasley, full of cake and turkey sandwiches, snored with enviable contentment as he slept, probably dreaming of playing Quidditch and Keeper for England.

For the first time in his young life, Harry James Potter saw his mother and father: she had perfect porcelain skin, dark red hair and startling green eyes; he had untidy black hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. From the moment he entered the magical world, many witches and wizards told him often how much he favored Lily and James, and now he could see just what they meant. Sitting on the floor in front of the ornate mirror, inscribed with what looked like mysterious runes (though Harry didn't pay much attention to the lettering), he completely lost track of the late hour. All he could do was stare at them smiling back at him, wiping tears from his eyes when his vision blurred too much to see them.

He was startled by a sudden noise out in the darkened corridor, and he rushed to cover himself with the cloak. It would be major detention and house-points deducted if he was caught out of bed after curfew. Argus Filch made it a personal quest, obsession really, to haul in students for rule breaking. He seemed to have an unfair advantage with his cat, Mrs. Norris, who more or less assisted in his patrolling the castle, but Harry could never be sure how they communicated with each other.

"I'll be back," Harry promised the two figures in the mirror, getting out of there as quietly as he could. A powerful new ache had settled in his chest: part joy and part pain. It stayed that way as he made his way back to his bed in the Gryffindor tower.

Brian Rollins had had so much fun with his friends at Hogwarts on Christmas Day that he completely forgot what Christmas night would be like for him. He fell into his agonizing recurring dream almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he knew that a deep depression would crash down on him for at least a week. The views started out very strangely, like everything towered over him at odd angles. Blurry buildings, which he recognized now because he'd drawn them in his sketchbook and looked them up later, surrounded him as he moved along. As best as he could tell, he was not walking on his own two feet, but he chalked this up to the utter confusion of the dream as a whole.

A faceless man and woman were prominent characters in this dream, and it frustrated him no end that he could never make out their features. Over time, Brian had taught himself to concentrate on other details of the dream, and to write them down as soon as he could; he kept a private dream journal with his sketchbook, and he had shared it only rarely with his foster parents (they were patient and kind, but never seemed able to provide any answers). He tried to notice sounds, smells and outlines wherever possible in the odd dreamscape. Thankfully, it was often in vivid color, like a movie film, but not always.

The man wore a well-tailored business suit and necktie, probably charcoal gray, but later Brian could make out a gleaming white shirtfront and a neatly trimmed auburn beard. This became a tactile memory and he could see his own fingers tangling in the beard and white shirt often; the red hairs tickled in his palm, and Brian's present-day fist clenched at the bedclothes, unnoticed in his sleep.

The man talked to Brian about many things, his voice a pleasant deep rumble that vibrated through the boy's entire body, even if he couldn't understand the words. This was a nice part of the dream…for some reason he could never explain, the sound of the man speaking calmed him while he listened intently, and as he lay peacefully in the dream, so it was in real-life.

The woman was softer and warmer than the man, or so it seemed, and she usually wore dresses in pretty floral or paisley prints that contrasted attractively with her dark hair. The memories of her were more detailed sounds and scents than those of the man (who often smelled of lemons): she sang little songs to him, but once again, he could never make out the words, over-powered as they were by the thrumming of his (or her?) heartbeat. At this point in the dream, Brian felt like he could hardly keep his eyes open when she held him close to her body. A warmth and pleasant fullness in his belly made this part of the dream fade to a darkness that was not frightening in any way.

He could never tell how much time had elapsed, but the man and the woman wore different clothes in the next part of the dream; it could have been raincoats or cloaks, or something similar. This segment started out with a loud whistle, which Brian now knew was from some sort of a train, and it startled him every time. He was grateful that soon after, the calming sounds of the woman's voice could be heard, and the man's as well. After a while, their talking to him and to each other made him sleepy again, the effect compounded by the rhythmic back and forth rocking of the train ride.

The next part of the dream was one of his favorites, because he could actually make out the faces of other people; probably other travelers on the train: an old woman with white hair and kind eyes tickled his feet; an old man, also with snowy white hair, stroked his chin and let him hold tightly to a bony forefinger. Brian remembered the satisfaction he felt at being allowed to show his strength, such as it was. Another man, this one younger and wearing a blue or black cap, appeared several times while they were on the train. He seemed to have a silvery badge or patch on his hat, and Brian liked the way it sparkled.

The scenery changed again, first a small room, and then to a wide-open blue sky, dotted with gigantic puffy white clouds. The sounds changed too: a deep horn bellowed a few times, followed by the softer clangs of a bell. Sometimes he was in the small room, decorated in subtle browns and greens, and the whole thing seemed to rock (occasionally it rocked quite far to one side and then the other). This was strange but he also felt and smelled the warmth of the woman more clearly now.

His favorite part of all involved a friendly gray tabby cat. For some reason, the sound of the cat's purring and meowing from very nearby made him laugh out loud, and he recognized that he had always loved the company of cats. The tickle of the whiskers and tail (_her_ tail? Brian always thought of the cat as female) on his face and body were tactile pleasures he couldn't get enough of. The tabby cat's scratchy tongue on his cheeks made him reach for his face, and try to reach his toes, giggling in his attempt to grab hold of the animal's soft, silky fur.

The lemon-scented man was here too; holding him in his strong arms with Brian's back cradled securely against his broad chest, the red beard tickling at his neck. The scenery at this point was primarily open blue on top of vast green, both marked by splashes of white here and there. The air tasted good as well, salty and clean. As he spoke to Brian (teaching, maybe?), the most vivid memory here was the man showing him an enormous full moon against an endless black night. The boy had since learned that the other sounds he heard were raucous calls of seabirds of many varieties. He'd had a lifetime to interpret this dream, and it seemed like hard work to tease out the smallest of clues.

He dreaded the last part of the dream, because of the unbearable sadness it caused, deep in his soul. The surrounding scenery was blurry again, but the sounds were very clear: he heard the sobs of a broken-hearted woman, felt her kisses on his face and his own heart wrenched at the pain of it. It had to be her, trying to speak to him one last time.

"Mom? Dad?" Brian whimpered in his sleep, wishing they would talk to him again. This was the end of the dream, and as the sound of her crying faded away, he always woke up. He hated this; the helplessness and emptiness that he felt as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. Looking around, Brian recognized the curtains of his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitory of Hogwarts castle. He sighed. "_Damn_."

Hot tears wet his face as he wrapped himself miserably around his pillow, trying not to weep too loudly. He didn't want to wake his roommates, who had to be resting peacefully after a long Christmas Day celebration. It took some time, but Brian eventually cried himself back to sleep.

Ron and Harry didn't think much of it when they woke the next morning and found Brian's bed occupied only by his kitten Zoë, and Hermione's cat Crookshanks curled up in a purring cuddle-knot. Their friend was an early riser, and regularly headed out to the greenhouses first thing. They didn't always understand his enthusiasm for plants but it never adversely affected his coursework, or their friendship, so it wasn't given further thought. He'd been taken on as a research assistant by Professor Sprout some time back in the early fall.

They didn't see Brian until well after breakfast, when Ron and Harry were back in the Gryffindor common room playing wizard's chess. He was munching on a banana-nut muffin as he made his way through the Fat Lady's portrait. His face was rosy from the cold winds outside.

"Hey, man. Wanna break in that new chess set of yours?" Ron offered, indicating the board where he and Harry sat. "You can play winner next."

Brian chuckled, looking down at Harry's rather large pile of demolished pieces. "Yeah, sure. '_Break'_ seems the operative word here, dude."

Harry grinned. "Come on, I'm getting better. Really." Ron directed his bishop to move a few squares, and Harry's remaining rook was smashed to bits on the board between them. "Really _slooooow-ly_." The boys laughed, comfortable with the facts that Harry was a great Quidditch Seeker, and a horrible chess player.

Brian plopped down on the sofa to watch the end of the game, gently moving Scabbers the rat to one side. Ron pondered his next move, and then looked at him curiously. "Are you doing okay? You started talking in your sleep again last night."

"Me? I don't think so," Rollins answered, shaking his head. "I don't remember anyway."

"Yeah, you and Harry too. I already asked him about it…it was weird that you both were jabbering away."

"Sorry if I woke you, Ron. Maybe I ate something that didn't agree with me at dinner; I do tend to eat too much turkey 'cause I like it so much."

"Maybe." Ron didn't sound convinced, but he dropped the subject. Brian and Harry looked at each other, shrugging. Neither noticed the subtle look of concern in Weasley's eyes, for both of them.

The boys whiled away the rest of the day playing wizard's chess, toasting marshmallows, and thinking of new and interesting ways to hex Draco Malfoy and his cronies. It was a lazy afternoon, and the weather had turned gray again; heavy snow clouds threatened so few people were venturing out onto the castle grounds.

It was later, closer to the dinner hour, that Harry was watching Ron and Brian's fifth or sixth game of chess, realizing at long last that they were both far better players than he was. He held Zoë in his lap, keeping her from jumping up on the board of moving pieces. Nevertheless, her ears pricked forward as she paid very close attention to the goings-on.

"I tried out my new cloak last night, guys," he said as Ron was clearing off one of Brian's pawns. "I mean, no offense, but I wanted to check it out myself the first go." They murmured their reassurances to him, completely understanding his explanation (they'd probably do the same).

"Did it work?" Brian asked, taking another lemon drop from the tin. He held it out, offering to share with the other two. Ron's carton of "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans" rested on the nearby end table.

"Yeah, were you invisible?" Ron wanted to know, talking around a jellybean with a grimace. "Ugh, dirt again, _dammit_," he said, tossing it into the fireplace. Brian grinned, knowing that his roommate had picked up that particular phrase from him.

"Yep, and I found this really big mirror thing. It was strange how…" And Harry went on to tell them what else he had seen. Brian got interested quickly when he heard that his friend had seen his parents for the first time ever: he knew some of the story that they'd been killed by a Dark wizard called Voldemort some ten years prior.

"Whoa, you saw your folks? Seriously?" Brian asked, leaning back from the chessboard. "Hey, that's cool. Do you think you could find the mirror again, if we all looked for it?"

"I'd like to see your Mum and Dad, Harry," Ron told him earnestly.

"Absolutely, I want to show both of you," Harry replied. "We'll go tonight, then." The boys nodded at each other and it was decided; eleven o'clock, and they would go look for this magic mirror. Brian was sincere when he said he wanted to see Harry's parents; he secretly hoped that he would see his own as well.

None of them ate much at dinner, a combination of the appetite-killing sweet snacks all afternoon, and the excitement of their planned adventure later that night. It was a risk, and they knew it: Filch patrolled the castle regularly (always hopeful that he'd get to use his shackles again for punishment purposes) and whichever Hogwarts faculty member was on night-duty would surely hand out detention if any of them were caught (they checked the board outside of the Great Hall and were relieved to read that it was McGonagall as "Professor of the Dark", to use the traditional student vernacular). Holiday detentions were more onerous than usual since classes were out for the break as four Ravenclaw girls had found out several days before: non-magically cleaning bathrooms, using only old toothbrushes, could not be counted as a pleasant vacation diversion by anyone.

It took longer than Harry had anticipated to find the mirror room with all three boys crowded underneath the Invisibility cloak; and, it was tricky to keep six legs and feet quiet compared to only two. Ron whispered that he was freezing, and was ready to turn back, but was swiftly voted down by Harry and Brian. Moments later, they pushed open the door which Harry indicated.

"Here, this is it!" he whispered excitedly. He left the cloak on the floor, and ran to stand in front of the mirror. Sure enough, his mother and father smiled and waved out at him, just like they had on Christmas night. "See?"

Ron and Brian exchanged puzzled glances. "I can't see anybody but you," Brian told him softly.

"Look!" Harry hissed. "There all in there…loads of them actually. I think I can see my grandparents too!"

"Keep it down, will you?" Ron whispered, a little frustrated as he grabbed Harry's upper arm. "You'll get us all knicked."

"Sorry, mate," Harry said, somewhat contritely. "Here, stand here so you can look properly in the mirror. You'll see what I mean."

Ron stepped in front of the mirror, and Harry was disappointed that he could no longer see his family, from any angle. He saw just Ron Weasley, standing there in his gray sweatpants and maroon sweater.

"Wow, look at me…" A touch of awe crept into Ron's voice. "I'm older, and I look _good_!"

Brian stifled a chuckle. "What?"

"Yeah! I'm head boy…and Quidditch captain…and we just won the bloody cup! Wicked…"

Harry made a quiet noise of disgust. "Stop messin' around, it's not funny you…"

"Harry, I'm telling you the truth, I swear," Ron protested. "I see me, but in the future, or something. Look, can't you see, just over there…I'm still at school, but I'm like…"

"Ridiculous," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, growing more impatient by the minute. "Brian, you try it."

Brian traded places with Ron, looking anxiously into the reflective glass surface. "Um…"

"What? What do you see?" Harry sounded a little stressed just then.

Rollins shook his head, disappointment clearly showing in his face and in his voice. "I just see me, dressed as I am now." He indicated his black sweatpants, sweatshirt and sneakers. "Wait a sec…it's changing."

"Well?" Ron urged.

"I'm on Arthur's Seat?" Brian paused, anticipating their next incredulous question. "It's this little mountain up in Scotland, my dad told me about it…I mean, Frank…you know, but I've never been there."

"A little _mountain_ up in Scotland? No way, this is ridiculous, you guys," said Harry, coming back to stand directly in front of the mirror. His mother and father sprang into his view, still smiling and waving at him.

"Hey! You had it to yourself all last night, remember?" Ron protested a bit too loudly, trying to get in front of Harry, elbowing him aside. "I want to look some more…"

Brian had stumbled backwards, stunned and silent while the other two were arguing. A sudden noise out in the hallway put an end to it; they hadn't realized how much noise they'd been making.

"Quick, it's Filch!" Harry whispered harshly, throwing the cloak over himself and Ron, their disagreement instantly forgotten. "Brian, get under the cloak."

"No, let's just go," Brian said, pushing them out the door ahead of him. "I'll be fine, that's why I wore black." He sensed they were about to argue, even though his two friends were already invisible. "Just go!"

"Okay, good luck," Ron whispered from under the cloak.

"See you back at the dorm," came Harry's voice floating softly back to him.

Brian waited for a count of twenty, silently leaning against the dark wall. His night vision adjusted quickly (something he'd always been glad to have as he learned astronomy), and he felt Mrs. Norris winding her way around his ankles in greeting. He bent down to stroke her ears.

"Hi sweetie," he whispered, running his hand down her silky back and giving her tail a friendly but very gentle tug. "Where's Argus?" She chirruped a reply. "I know, but I have to go back in there, just to make sure." Mrs. Norris chirruped again, a note of admonishment in the sound. "Fine, honey, just give me fifteen minutes then, and you do whatever you have to do. I'll be careful, I promise." He patted her back once more and then stood up, leaning into the darkness of the castle wall.

Anyone else overhearing such a one-sided conversation would not have gleaned any sense from it, but shortly thereafter the brown and white long-haired cat made her way down the corridor, as she'd promised the boy. Creeping just as quietly as she did, Brian eased into the mirror room. So intent on getting back in front of the magical mirror was he that he didn't hear the soft rustle of a wizard's robes in the darkest far corner of the room.

Brian sighed with disappointment when he saw the same scene as before in the mirror: the extinct volcano in the middle of Edinburgh, most often known as "Arthur's Seat". He was certain he'd never been there before, having only found it in one of Frank Rollins' books from his days as a graduate student in that capitol city of Scotland (Brian's foster father had taken a doctoral course in European literature at the University of Edinburgh back in the 1950s).

"Damn, damn, damn," he whispered. Brian stood there, shaking his head and blinking rapidly to stem the flow of tears that threatened to fall. He looked up toward the ceiling, dimly lit by the light of the Moon streaming in the narrow window, muttering to himself: "Come on, dude. Figure it out."

It was fortunate he looked in that direction for up at the top of the ornate frame, he noticed engraved lettering. Wondering why Harry hadn't mentioned it, he squinted to read the words. "_Erised stra ehru oyt ube_…" he stumbled over the odd syllables, and then it came to him. "Wait, it's a mirror, dumb ass. 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'," he read quietly. Brian squatted down on his haunches to think, trying to calculate how much time he had left with Mrs. Norris' bargain.

Not caring (and not knowing) if anyone was watching, he started talking to himself in a barely audible voice; his version of a personal pep-talk, something his roommates had heard him do on occasion when he was studying. "So, Harry sees his dead parents. Heart's desire, okay, makes sense." He paused to listen for noises in the hallway before continuing: "Ron sees himself holding a Quidditch cup. Weird, but his heart's desire, so fine and none of my business. But I see a frickin' _mountain_? Way to go, Brian."

The wave of disappointment hit him again, and he bit back a sob. Try as he might, he could no longer hold in the tears of frustration, and he stood there before the mirror, unsure of what to do next. His fists clenched and he desperately wanted to throw his head back for a primal scream; he settled instead for angrily slinging a wooden chair into the darkened corner of the room before making his way into the hallway, in hopes of getting back to Gryffindor tower undetected.

Unknown to Brian, the chair narrowly missed Headmaster Albus Dumbledore as he stood in the shadows, and it clattered noisily to the floor, sliding into the wall beyond. He walked silently to stand before the Mirror of Erised, sighed, and muttered "_Finite incantatem_."

The scene in the mirror shifted, images shimmering and melting into one another, until it settled on the scene that Brian Rollins should have been able to see. Albus murmured "_Arresto_" and the flowing pictures froze instantly. Tears came to the old wizard's eyes and he sighed again. "Son, I am so, so sorry; I had to do it, to keep you safe."

Four people were in the mirror; three adults and an infant, all dressed warmly to be out in the cold March winds of Edinburgh. Dumbledore stared at younger images of himself, his beautiful wife, and their best friend (_How odd to see Alastor whole again_, he thought). Minerva held Brian as a newborn infant, and all of them were beaming at the photographer; the majestic peak of Arthur's Seat was prominent in the background.

He waved his hand at the mirror to clear it, turned away and left the mirror room; before it could show him the truth of a scene which he had feared his entire life…the death of his sister, Ariana.

So despondent was Brian that he didn't care what path he took to get back to his bed in Gryffindor tower. He had been walking darkened corridors for nearly fifteen minutes when a hand grabbed him from behind, and shoved him head first into a wall. Brian's reflexes were quick enough that he didn't injure his face, but he grunted in pain as his right shoulder impacted the hard, cold stone.

"Gotcha!" sneered Argus Filch into his ear, shifting his tightening grasp on Brian's upper left arm. "Come along then, you're knicked, my beauty." Without waiting to see who he had in his clutches, Filch started off in the direction of Professor McGonagall's office. He knew better than to cross the Head of Gryffindor House, and he smiled nastily when he recognized Brian in the light of his lantern.

"Even better when a naughty little lion is out after curfew," said Filch in a low voice. "She'll love this, lad." Brian refused to say a word, and let the Hogwarts caretaker drag him along to the night-duty staff member.

"Enter," they heard her say, rather sharply, when Filch rapped on the door a few minutes later. Brian stepped in, still silent and unresisting, as Filch brought him to stand in front of her desk; McGonagall had several parchment pages spread out before her, lit by a green and gold traditional banker's lamp. Her lips drew into a thin white line when she saw the way the man was still holding tightly to Brian's upper arm; it had to be painful, in her opinion, yet Brian gave no notice.

"That'll do, Mr. Filch," she said evenly, making sure he let go and stepped aside. Minerva watched the boy's eyes, and thought she saw a flicker of relief. "Well?"

"Caught this one out after curfew, Professor, sneakin' around after dark," Filch reported the obvious, trying to sound more official.

McGonagall edged her glasses back up on her nose, taking in both of them with a very stern glare as she pushed back the chair and stood up. She checked the time on a nearby antique grandfather clock before she spoke. "It's nearly midnight, Mr. Rollins, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Rollins noticed a smug look on Filch's face; the man made very little attempt to conceal his glee. Brian met her gaze briefly, and then stared at a remote point on her desk. He blushed, embarrassed at how angry and disappointed he'd made her feel…but also glad that Ron and Harry must have made it back to the tower alright.

"I have no excuse, ma'am." He shifted his right shoulder, barely covering a grimace; Minerva saw it and her blood nearly boiled over.

Filch unwisely chuckled when Brian said nothing further in his own defense, stopping abruptly when McGonagall turned to glare furiously at him. The caretaker had no way of knowing how lucky he was that she didn't hex him into next week for manhandling her son.

Minerva stifled a sigh and nodded, reluctantly respecting Brian's decision. "Very well, twenty points will be taken from Gryffindor, and you will sit detention tomorrow afternoon; one to five p.m. in my classroom, Mr. Rollins." She ignored Filch's ingratiating smile. "I will escort this student back to his dormitory at once…good night, Argus."

And with that, the Deputy Headmistress waited patiently for the shabby caretaker to scrape a ridiculous bow and leave the room before she spoke again. "Brian?" she said softly. "Are you injured? We can get you to the hospital wing if you need to go."

Brian's eyes flicked back to meet hers; he looked surprised. "I'm pretty sure it's just a bruise, ma'am. I'm fine, thank you." She thought she saw unshed tears in his eyes as he gingerly moved his right arm again. "He didn't mean it," the boy whispered.

McGonagall opened her mouth, and then closed it, somewhat taken aback to hear her son defending the conduct of one Argus Filch.

"He was picked on when he was at school, wasn't he, Professor? That's what his cat told me anyway."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Spoilers: mild spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: Brian has detention today, and it's from his Mom. Remember all the kids in grade school (or whatever grade really) whose mothers taught at the same school? Sometimes, nice. Sometimes, _ouch_.

A/N2: I don't know if my Latin and Italian phrases are strictly grammatically correct, but they sure sound pretty magical to me!

Chapter 13/??

"Kittens, cats, sacks, wives: how many were going to St. Ives?" 

The private breakfast meeting on December 27th between the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts went rapidly from a civil discussion of school business and Ministry of Magic matters as usual to a rather one-sidedly heated disagreement regarding the treatment of their son. Albus adored that she was so protective of her Gryffindor students (even if they didn't always know it); that she would be protective of her own "cub" was a moot point.

"So you _Obliviated_ him? Our son? Minerva said harshly, pushing aside her half-eaten plate of kippers, tomatoes and eggs in disgust. "Albus, what on Earth were you thinking?"

It cost him a great effort to keep a straight face, for he had always found her furious looks to be extremely attractive; her green eyes glittered dangerously at him, and it was all he could do to stop from leaning over and kissing her. However, Dumbledore was wise in most matters, and thought it best to wait for that part of their making up (a matter of "when" rather than "if", thankfully). Fifty years of marriage had taught him to work with, not against, her moods, and right now, waves of anger were literally pouring from Minerva McGonagall. Any attempts at seduction just then would not have been good for his personal bodily safety.

"Dearest, I did absolutely nothing of the kind, I promise you," Albus said softly, reaching across the table for her hand; she did not (and could not) resist the warm loving tone of his voice. "My spell was cast on the Mirror of Erised, and not on Brian. Please, Minerva, I need to explain."

And so he did. Albus went on to tell her in complete detail, what each of the three Gryffindor first-year boys had seen in the mirror, and that he had been undetected by them the entire time. Minerva made a face of displeasure when he told her that Brian had not been the only one _out_ after curfew; just the only one who had been _caught_ by Argus Filch's dedicated patrolling of the castle.

"Harry saw Lily and James, after all he has never known a loving family life," Dumbledore said simply. "The Dursleys are…"

McGonagall's look of contempt for Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, of 4 Privet Drive―Little Whinging―Surrey, spoke volumes; he didn't think she'd ever forgive the way they treated Harry Potter. "They are abusive and useless Muggles of the worst kind."

"Yes, in some respects, that is quite true. But his Aunt Petunia has vowed to give him safe house-room until he comes of age. He is her sister's son," he continued, nodding agreement. "I honestly believe that all will be well in the end. Yes, thank you, my dear." This last was in response to her silent offer to pour another cup of tea for both of them: a very good sign, Albus knew, that his wife was returning to a more gracious mood. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, and the stress-headache that had been threatening, just behind his eyes, faded instantly.

They sipped at their freshened cups of calming hot tea, comfortable in the silence between them now that they were clearing the air (they'd had plenty of practice at fighting both fairly and otherwise). "What did Ronald Weasley see in the mirror?" she asked, sounding quite interested in his explanations of the previous night's events.

"Ah, yes! You'll appreciate this, I should think. Well, as Mr. Weasley has grown up in a very big and very crowded nuclear family," Albus said with a smile. "He's been overshadowed for so long by five brothers that his heart's desire is to be at long last a 'top dog'. He saw himself both as Head Boy and champion Quidditch captain."

Minerva chuckled in spite of herself; as a Quidditch fan and staunch Gryffindor team supporter, she hoped that _this_ would be the year that the school Championship Cup returned to her own house. Slytherin had won it the last few years running, and she was long-since tired of snide remarks from Potions Master Severus Snape regarding the quality of her house's team; staff meetings and meals had gotten unbearable in the months of June lately. "Which are feats that none of his brothers achieved simultaneously. Neither Molly nor Arthur even played Quidditch while they were at school, I recall."

Dumbledore reached again for her right hand, brushing a whiskery kiss across her knuckles and the Christmas gift claddagh ring she wore (it was he who had made three of the traditional rings: one for his son, one for his wife and one for himself). "Exactly," he said, his eyes twinkling, but his face grew instantly somber as he thought of the pain he had caused their son. "Brian would have seen us, had I not interfered, dearest wife…I'm sorry."

"How do you mean, '_us'_?" she asked, squeezing his hand tightly. "Love? It's alright…"

He sighed, more than a little sadly as he recalled how upset Brian had been as he hoped to see his heart's desire, just as his friends had done. "I had to interfere, there was no other choice: he would have clearly seen you, me, Alastor, and himself in the mirror; the day of his christening, remember? We went up to Arthur's Seat and the Salisbury Crags on our way to the pub to celebrate."

"Is that even possible? He was only…" Minerva paused, calculating back to the date in 1960. "Brian was only a little more than four weeks old…a newborn bairn, Albus! It was late March, cold but no snowfall to speak of, and Poppy arrived the following week to visit and help me when you went to..." McGonagall brought a hand to her mouth, covering a gasp of surprise. "Oh my…"

Albus knew she was right and that his wife could unerringly rattle off the exact details of their son's birth at St. Kentigern's Hospital without hesitation: seven pounds, seven ounces birth weight; twenty-one and three-quarters inches long; 12:03 p.m. time of birth after eleven hours of very easy labor, she always said. It certainly hadn't sounded easy to _him_ as he had anxiously paced holes in the waiting area carpet, with Alastor Moody keeping him company, but he sensibly left that to her expert opinion.

"Newborns don't have very clear long-distance vision yet," she continued, her lips pursed thoughtfully. "How could he have seen any of that in the first place?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I truly don't know, and I read everything you passed on to me while you were pregnant; _everything_." He grinned, a suggestive twinkle now coming to his eyes. It had been her first and only pregnancy, and she voraciously read every Muggle book and article on pregnancy, newborns, and infant care that she could get her hands on as her belly grew larger and larger in the full-term (and Brian had only been two days "late" according to the Medi-wizard's calculation of his due date). Albus often came back to their rooms to find a stack of reading assignments waiting for him to study; but, she was healthy, and Brian was healthy, and little else mattered. Minerva had taken a twelve-month sabbatical from teaching at Hogwarts (basically September 1959 to September 1960), and they lived in a comfortable flat in Muggle Edinburgh that Albus had connected temporarily to the Floo-network. Ex-Auror Moody had helped them immensely with security measures.

Bringing herself back from fond memories of the Merchiston Place apartment, Minerva shook her head as if to clear it. "So, how did he react when you enchanted the mirror's scene for the second time? I suppose he didn't know you were there then either, did he?" She'd felt a twinge of pride when Albus had told her that Brian had insisted his friends go on back to the dorm without him under the cloak as well, a somewhat heroic sacrifice in her opinion.

"None of the boys did…I generally don't need a cloak to become invisible." He paused, sighing. "Brian was understandably distraught, and he threw a chair across the room. Nearly hit me with it, too." Albus' understated tone was rather poignant just then. "Your boy is a lot stronger than he looks, Minerva."

"Would've served you right, darling," she said coyly, another sparkle of maternal pride coming to her eyes.

"True that," he said, winking fondly at her. Early in their marriage, Minerva had been a "thrower" of items during particularly heated storms of anger, especially kitchen items. Fortunately, Albus Dumbledore had very good reflexes for a wizard of his age, and she had rather poor aim for such an otherwise clever witch.

"And then he left, probably taking a circuitous route back to the dormitory," he finished, staring down into his empty teacup.

"Which is when Filch caught up with him and hauled him into my office," she added grimly. "The poor lad, I wish I had known; I took house-points and gave him detention…we're meeting this afternoon, in fact. Four bloody hours during the holidays, I'm such a _witch_, Albus."

"It was a fair cop, Minerva. You said so yourself," he told her gently. "It's ironic that Brian talks to Filch's cat, did you know about that?"

"Yes, he told me." McGonagall stood at the chime of the beautiful "planet" clock in the Headmaster's office (it was similar to his pocket-watch); she had meetings upcoming, and so did he, for the remainder of the morning. "So what are we going to do now?"

He rose and took her in his arms, kissing her forehead. "How you conduct detention in your own classroom is your own business, Professor," said Albus, his bright blue eyes twinkling merrily again. "And I'd wager my festive new tin of cockroach clusters that you can come up with something which will allow him to earn house-points back again, hmm?"

She didn't answer, but the quirky smile on her lips told him what he already knew, accomplished Legilimens or not. "I love you, Albus." Minerva closed her eyes briefly and sighed, happy that they had settled their differences.

"And I love you, Tabby," he replied immediately, placing a soft kiss on her lips like he'd been wanting to do for what seemed like ages that morning. "Shall I bring you your tea to the Transfiguration classroom? I probably won't see you at lunch with this trip to London for a few hours."

"Brian has detention with me until five o'clock," she reminded him, looking up slightly and wondering at his rather mysterious smile.

Albus grinned. "M-hmm, yes, I know. See you then, and our fine young kitten as well," he said, chuckling at his own joke.

Harry and Ron both wore rather guilty expressions as they watched Brian getting ready to head down to his detention that afternoon. He had been unusually quiet all day, doing pencil drawings in his sketchbook, and they thought incorrectly that it meant he was angry with the pair of them (he couldn't yet tell them about the dreams he was having). The boy had decided that since it was an "official" detention, he would wear his full school uniform and robes. Rollins was straightening the Windsor-knot on his Gryffindor tie when Ron finally spoke up.

"I'm awfully sorry about this, Brian," he said quietly, not sure what else to say (especially if his roommate was wearing his uniform during the holidays, shirt-tails tucked in neatly and all). "I mean, if I hadn't been so loud with trying to see myself and…"

"It's okay, really." Satisfied with the tie, he tried to comb his hair, but soon gave that up. He'd ask Hermione to give him a haircut when she got back from her skiing holiday; Fred and George Weasley were constantly offering first- and second-years free haircuts in the common room using spells of their own invention, and well, some of the results had been quite ugly.

"We could have all made it back with the Invisibility cloak, easily," Harry added.

Brian turned to face them, and truly smiled for what was probably the first time all day. "Chill out, okay? I'm not mad at either of you, honest I'm not. Professor McGonagall will probably have me doing lines for four hours, and then we can play chess or whatever tonight. It's not like I've never gotten detention before, guys. Filchy caught me, fair and square." He shook his head, grinning at them to show that all really was well between them.

"Yeah, him and his mangy dust mop of a cat…" Ron said bitterly. "They're both nasty little gits." He had an illogical dislike of Mrs. Norris, a common theme among students whose families had been at Hogwarts for several generations; Ron's brothers, and his Mom and Dad had all graduated, or would soon finish at the school.

"Now, now, _she's_ a very nice little cat. You should talk to her sometime…" and with a characteristic cheeky grin which included both Harry and Ron, Brian picked up his sketchbook and left the Gryffindor dormitory to arrive at the Transfiguration classroom at the appointed time. Ron and Harry just looked at each other before heading downstairs themselves, not sure if he was serious or not.

He was about ten minutes early, but the door was propped open and so Brian made his way to his usual place (second row, second seat back; at the work table he shared with Hermione Granger…Harry and Ron sat directly next to them in Transfiguration class). He sat down and dug out his pencil, deciding to finish his latest sketch of an image from his dreams. Some of the caged birds and other animals in the classroom watched him sleepily for a moment or two, and then returned to their holiday rest.

Just like in his dreams, which seemed to come more frequently at Christmas than at any other time of year, the point of view was rather odd in this sketch. It was as if he were lying down on his back, looking straight up into pointed spires and open archways. He knew enough from architecture books to call this style "gothic", but he had no idea the name of the building, if it could be called that. He'd worry about _where_ it was supposed to be later.

Brian worked in silence, occasionally humming to himself and completely unaware that he had an audience, for in the back of the classroom, up in one of the ornate windowsills, sat a gray tabby cat with very distinctive spectacle markings around her eyes. The cat had entered after he did, so he could not have passed her on his way in. She sat very still and upright, ignoring the cold winds that fluttered against the windowpane every so often. Her tail wrapped delicately around her paws as she sat, watching him drawing in the fabric-bound Muggle-style sketchbook.

Her ears flicked forward and her pupils dilated with curiosity when the boy raised the book over his head, to get a look at it from a new angle, but she didn't move when he put the sketchbook back on the work table and started on a new page. He worked quickly to get another rough image down in the book; he'd rotated the building's structure in his mind's eye, and wanted to see if that would translate onto paper. In a few more minutes, the alarm on his digital wristwatch "beeped" the one o'clock hour, and the gray tabby cat leapt gracefully through the air…

…transforming herself into Professor Minerva McGonagall. So intent was he that Brian neither heard nor reacted until he heard her address him in a quiet voice: "Good afternoon, Mr. Rollins." She didn't mean to give herself away but her Scottish burr always softened when she said his name.

"Good afternoon, Professor," he replied politely, without flinching in surprise, using his pencil to mark his place in the book, and closing it. He got to his feet to stand beside his desk as she made her way to the front of the room. Brian watched calmly as she stood at the well-used chalkboard, prepared to accept whatever punishment she saw fit for his curfew violation.

Unexpectedly, her breath caught in her throat when she realized that he'd worn his full school uniform to detention, complete with white shirt, black trousers, gray sweater, Gryffindor tie and robes but she kept her features carefully composed. McGonagall nodded in acknowledgement though, appreciating his gesture of respect.

"Come on up here, lad," said Minerva, granting him a tiny smile. "Something more useful than lines today, I should think." She waited until he joined her on the slightly raised dais, and then led him over to a corner in the front of the room where students were not normally permitted. She opened a door to an old storage closet.

"I've needed to sort and inventory these items for some time now, Mr. Rollins," McGonagall told him. "Headmaster Dumbledore taught in this very classroom many years ago, and I inherited a menagerie, or so it would seem."

Something in her tone made him nod and smile in understanding; he'd heard from the older students that Albus Dumbledore was a collector of Muggle books and manuscripts. This particular closet was packed floor to ceiling with books of all shapes and sizes. Brian had already removed his school robe and was rolling up his sleeves as she continued:

"I'll leave you to devise a cataloging system for me, and I fear that a great many of these volumes have been long-forgotten by Professor Dumbledore." The boy reacted spontaneously with a knowing grin since his foster father had been a literature professor (and he'd heard plenty of times the discussion about "hoarding too many books" that took place between Frank and Juliette Rollins). McGonagall allowed herself to give him a conspiratorial wink of understanding.

"I will be here at the desk, working on lesson plans for my O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students if you have any questions, Brian." She removed her hat, placing it on an empty birdcage on the classroom's dais.

He nodded again. "Okay. No problem, Professor," he said as he grabbed the first stack of dusty books.

The storage closet was not large, maybe eight feet wide by twelve feet deep (and a fairly average ceiling height), but it was crowded with books; most looked to be in good condition, just that they were dusty and they hadn't been used in a very long time. Brian could already see spider webs on some of the upper shelves. He took up his wand, murmuring "_Lumos_" at three or four lanterns he found inside. Now at least he could see what he was doing, and he returned the wand to his back pocket.

By three o'clock, Brian had completely emptied the storage closet, and stacks of books were arranged neatly along the wall. He'd done his best to categorize them: literature, history, magic, languages, and do on, but there were a few that defied characterization. He stacked these together in a separate pile, off to one side, to ask McGonagall about later. Looking around in the far back of the classroom, he found a feather duster and some rags, hoping to clean out the shelves before returning the hundreds of books to their locations.

From time to time, Minerva looked up discretely to see how he was getting on with the chore; he worked quietly and efficiently, sometimes humming along to the tunes which were playing (and reminding her even more of one of her husband's endearing habits). In order to have a little background music, she had charmed a snuff-box on the desk, and it softly played pleasant violin and viola pieces. Brian had gotten about halfway through his dusting when she heard a sneezing fit, followed in rapid succession by a loud crash. "Ow, dangit that hurt…" he muttered to himself.

"Are you alright?" she asked with some concern, rushing into the storage closet to check on him.

He had obviously landed safely on his feet, but was still sneezing as he stood there, holding the feather duster and rubbing a small knot on the back of his head. "Sorry, Professor. I'm not very good at this part…" Brian blushed, trying to get his nose and watering eyes back under control. She conjured a clean, white handkerchief and handed it over. "Oh, thank you, ma'am."

"Here, let's try this," said McGonagall, looking around the closet and growing rather impressed as she got out her wand. She'd never seen it so clean; in fact, the room looked larger with the shelves emptied and the stacks taken up off the floor. "You can learn a dusting charm…one, two, three _Per impolverare_." With an expert flick of her wand, the shelf right next to her was completely cleared of dust and spider webs.

Brian let out a laugh. "Cool!" At her nod, he pulled his wand from his back pocket to imitate her wand-work and incantation. He got it perfectly on the first try.

It didn't take long between the two of them to finish dusting the room, and at least Brian wasn't sneezing anymore. He also noticed that for the last few shelves that she cleaned, Professor McGonagall was no longer using her wand or speaking the incantation.

"Professor, some spells don't require that a wand is used?" asked Brian.

"Correct. After your fifth year, you'll start learning what are called 'inaudible spells'…no speaking, in other words," she replied, noting that he was very attentive. "More experienced witches and wizards use both inaudible and wandless spells."

"Really? Hermione told me about 'wizard duels'. She said Professor Flitwick was a dueling champion, way back before he came to Hogwarts to teach."

Minerva nodded, pleased with his questions; it didn't seem like a detention anymore, rather becoming an impromptu tutoring session that they both were enjoying. "That is true, Brian, although it isn't very sporting to duel without a wand."

"But the bad ones do sometimes, the 'Dark wizards' I guess they're called," he commented thoughtfully.

"Indeed; and so we place high importance on your Defense Against the Dark Arts class work, don't we?" She looked down at him over the tops of her spectacles, and he knew right away that she was referring to his mid-term progress report…Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts had both been fair to satisfactory, his lowest course marks.

"Yes, ma'am," Brian said at once, blushing again. "Those grades will come up by exam time."

"Good lad. So, tell me about these stacks you have here…"

After a few more dusting spells from each of them to clear the stacked books of dust and cobwebs, Brian went on to describe the categories to her. Many of the books were Muggle history, poetry or arts, and he recognized them as copies of books his family had at home in Maine, including "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare" and "Poems of Robert Burns".

Brian was not sure what to do with some of the wizarding titles, but Minerva was able to classify them easily. It wasn't long before they worked together to neatly re-stock the bookshelves in the little closet, and it went quickly. McGonagall decided that she would prepare the shelf labels later.

"And these, Professor," Brian said, indicating a pile of what looked like magazines. "What are they?"

Minerva read the titles out loud, "_Challenges in Charming_; _The Practical Potioneer_, and _Transfiguration Today_…oh, these are wizarding journals; publications in the magical world for research and things like that," she replied, picking one off the top of the pile. "Here, you may recognize the author of one of these articles."

Brian grinned when he read, "'Trans-species transformation by Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore'. No kidding? This is neat," he told her sincerely. "Wait, are you published too, Professor McGonagall? You must be."

She colored with pleasure at his train of thought and found another issue for him. "'The Animagus Registry, A Necessary Precaution by Minerva M. McGonagall'," he read. "May I borrow this? I'll make sure I get it back to you in good condition."

McGonagall nodded. "Certainly you may. But let's get the rest of these over to my desk; I should think the Headmaster might want to go through them himself."

They carried the tall stacks of journals over to the desk, then headed back to the storage closet to finish up and put out the enchanted lanterns; it was only 4:20, and technically, Brian had detention until five. The two of them were laughing about something the boy had just said when Albus Dumbledore knocked on the outer door and walked in. A well-stocked tea tray obediently followed him at about shoulder height, landing smoothly on the front student work table in the center row.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," said Minerva, smiling at him but not really surprised after their conversation that morning. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I heard from Madam Pomfrey that you missed your tea, and I thought I would come to catch you up on other recent progress reports," he said, his blue eyes twinkling with fond amusement when he saw Brian hauling another armload of manuscripts to her desk. "And good afternoon to you as well, Mr. Rollins."

"Hello, sir," Brian replied, neatly stacking the journals on the large wooden desk. "That's the last, Professor." He stood aside while she shifted the stack so that Albus could read the top copy. The Headmaster gave a little chuckle.

"Ah, I wondered where these had gotten to," Dumbledore murmured. "It's not often, young man, that students with detention in Professor McGonagall's classroom are so cheerful you know." He looked at Brian over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, his eyebrows raised in a question.

Brian shrugged. "It's been a productive afternoon, sir. And I learned some new things…so it was worth getting into trouble after all." _I just won't get caught next time_, he said to himself.

Dumbledore wondered if Brian knew or had heard about his skills as a Legilimens just then, and he smiled at the young Gryffindor student. "Very astute of you I see. Well, if it's alright with Professor McGonagall here, you can finish out your detention with tea and a snack," Albus offered cheerfully, looking over at the Transfiguration instructor.

"That's a fine idea, Headmaster," she said at once, indicating that they both sit at the work table while she conjured a third high-backed stool for herself.

Brian immediately agreed and accepted the mug of hot tea from Dumbledore's own hands. "Thanks very much. I was getting a little hungry, sir."

They settled companionably around the table, each with their mugs of hot tea, sharing a tray of cookies between them. While the Headmaster caught up McGonagall on some of the news from his trip to the Ministry of Magic that day, Brian occupied himself quietly with the tea and sweets; he didn't recognize most of the names of witches and wizards he was hearing anyway. Feeling completely comfortable around the two highest-ranking teachers at his school, Brian brought his feet up onto the seat and wrapped his arms around his knees when he'd finished his tea. In a few more minutes, he did seem to be getting sleepy in the warm classroom, and his head nodded gently to rest on his kneecaps.

Both Dumbledore and McGonagall were surreptitiously watching the boy as they chatted about minor school and ministry business, careful not to mention anything that might compromise security or administration in front of the first-year student. For her part, Minerva quietly noted that he'd selected lemon squares, chocolate hob-nobs and shortbreads from the assorted cookies (he didn't seem to care for the taste of the ginger newts, one of her favorites); for his part, Albus couldn't shake the image of a cat or a kitten balancing itself perfectly on a narrow seat, its legs curled up for warmth as it dozed. He looked over at his wife and received a tiny smile in return; she'd had the same thought just then.

"Brian?" she called softly. He opened his eyes and looked back at her a little sheepishly, reddening when he saw Dumbledore watching him too, with a rather amused look on his face.

"Sorry. Yes, ma'am?" Brian settled his legs back down to the rungs of the stool, his balance still perfectly centered (Albus' own knees creaked with discomfort just watching the boy).

"Might I suggest a more reasonable bed time tonight?" McGonagall suggested; her kindly smile belied the mild admonishment. "And if you were serious about your interest in Animagi, we can begin our sessions in two weeks time, I should think. Classes will resume January the seventh."

He brightened immediately. "Really? Oh, yes please, I am interested…" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Albus was keen to hear about this too (he had, after all, been her tutor during her school days, and began training her as an Animagus in her fifth year; now Albus was also curious to hear the full story of this afternoon's detention from his wife).

Minerva stepped back to her desk and handed over to him a well-worn copy of a reference book, The Tricky Transformation: Animagus Transfiguration.

"We may have to order you your own copy at some point, Mr. Rollins. Two essay parchments for now: describe for me Gamp's Law of Elemental Transformation, with its five principle exceptions," she began. Brian nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And then a list of ten possible Animagus forms, with the advantages and disadvantages of each. You already have the Fantastic Beasts text?"

"Yes, ma'am; I've got that upstairs," he assured her, carefully adding the book to his two wizarding journals she'd already loaned him.

"Very good; Madam Pince should be able to suggest additional references if you require any," she said. "Remember though, your interest in the subject does not necessarily mean you'll have the aptitude in the long run…it is rather advanced magic, and I don't want to set your hopes so high that it's unfair to you, alright?"

Brian frowned slightly, and then smiled. "I understand. It sounds just like something my folks would say…"

"Wise of them, but we'll remain hopeful and see how it goes, nonetheless," McGonagall replied. "I think that will be all for today, Mr. Rollins. Let's be mindful of the school rules in future, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his blue eyes dancing, grabbing up his school robe and the short stack of reading material. "Thanks, Professor. Bye, sir; thank you for the lemon squares!" And with that, he ran out of the classroom to head up to Gryffindor tower and to find his friends.

Albus waited until Minerva had shut the door, and warded it so they could speak more freely. He chuckled. "So Brian wants to begin Animagus training? Already?" He got up to stretch his legs, cramped from sitting on the uncomfortable classroom stools.

McGonagall smiled. "It's just research for now. I was as enthusiastic about starting off, too, if you remember, Albus. Way back then."

Dumbledore walked down the row, now stretching his arms out wide. "These seats are unbearable," he commented, wincing at a cramp in his shoulder. "True, you were my dear. And a fifth year." He stopped at the table where Brian had left his sketchbook behind. "What's this?"

"Oh, Brian must have left it; I'll get it back to him at dinner," she said. "He was drawing in it earlier today." Minerva had gone back around to her desk to tidy up the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. lesson plans she'd worked out that day…a quiet game of chess before dinner was something she'd been looking forward to, especially after her late night as on-duty staff person.

Albus flipped it open to the page marked with the pencil. "He's quite good actually," said the Headmaster, carefully turning to the inside leaf to read a neatly hand-written inscription; he knew it was his son's writing since it was also signed "Brian Robert Rollins". "_Conteggio soltanto i sogni felici_…count only the happy dreams." He turned back to the marked page, and Minerva was startled by his soft exclamation of surprise; it wasn't often that Albus Dumbledore was taken aback by anything anymore.

"What is it, Albus?" She came nearer as he sat himself gingerly down on the high-backed stool at Brian's work table.

He turned, rather white-faced to show her the open page. "The Sir Walter Scott Monument is in Edinburgh right? I think this is Brian's dream journal."

Her eyes widened with mild shock as she grasped the implications. "And his dream journal is full of scenes from there?" McGonagall watched curiously as he showed her a few of the other pages.

Realization dawned on both of them, and it left them shaking their heads in wonder. Suddenly, Albus beamed at his wife of so many years, his eyes twinkling with happiness. "Minerva, I have an idea…and I know just the person I need to see tomorrow."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Spoilers: mild spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: This will seem very much out of order from JKR's canon storyline, but I'd like to use or mention some of the interesting characters from the later books (and not all of them in a good way!).

Chapter 14/??

"And Jupiter aligns with Mars…" 

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Professor Trelawney," Albus said warmly. "I trust you are having a pleasant holiday break, my dear?"

"Yes, and thank _you_, Headmaster," she replied in her usual wispy voice. "It is always a pleasure to visit with you. Professor Binns and I had a lovely meal and Christmas reminiscence the other day."

Dumbledore smiled benignly and nodded, resisting the urge to comment. Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney rarely left her rooms in the North Tower, adjacent to her classroom-office-parlor. He knew that she and the ghost instructor of History of Magic spent a lot of time together: she claimed that too much time among the living clouded her Inner Sight, but at least he didn't smell cooking sherry anywhere nearby as they sipped their tea from her extremely delicate porcelain cups (and it was just after nine o'clock in the morning, thank goodness).

They chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes, and Albus was happy to learn that Sybill was doing well after her emotional upset at the hands of one Dolores Umbridge, and that she and the centaur Firenze were able to work out an equitable compromise regarding the instruction of Hogwarts Divination courses. Inwardly Albus sighed as he prepared to broach the subject for which he had come in the first place.

"Actually, Sybill, I have come in need of your expert opinion," he told her quietly. Trelawney involuntarily snorted into her teacup, and regarded him blearily through her rather thick glasses. Her eyes were streaming as she reached for a linen napkin to help quell her sudden coughing attack, and to bring her disbelief under some measure of control. Dumbledore waited patiently for her to gather herself once again, a somewhat amused twinkle coming to his eyes.

"Headmaster, I am at your humble service! You need only say the word," she replied enthusiastically, tripping over her own words. "Although, from a wizard such as yourself, I certainly didn't see that one coming." She managed to wink at him; it was both teasing and self-deprecating, and he couldn't resist a chuckle along with her.

"Ah, that's the spirit," he said, pleased that she had at least developed a sense of humor regarding her rather poor track record of divinations by various means: out of thousands of predictions she'd made since he met her in 1979, two (two really BIG ones though) were seemingly correct. Dumbledore felt protective of this frail young witch, and offered her the teaching position at Hogwarts both for her safety and his peace of mind as Voldemort re-acquired his power and followers throughout Britain and the Continent.

"I need for you to cast a natal chart, a birth chart, for someone I know; it must be kept in strictest confidence and is for my own research purposes, you see." He politely refrained from mentioning that he could have calculated the chart himself, but felt that his closeness to Brian would bias his opinions and interpretations. Besides, it might be better for Minerva to hear some of this news from an outside, neutral source. Albus was beginning to form some hypotheses about their son's magic and his magical potential…if he was right, and Brian was a true "Leapling", the boy would need even more carefully guarded training; his Muggle-style dream journal was one very strong piece of evidence in his favor.

She goggled at the elder wizard for a moment or two; the sight made even more grotesque by her eyeglasses, then recovered, taking up a quill and parchment immediately. "I would be honored, Headmaster, truly. May I have the subject's name and birth information?"

"Well, for confidentiality you understand, we'll use a pseudonym…John Graham Palin," Dumbledore began, watching her as she wrote this down in her spidery-scrawl calligraphy. "And he was born the on 29th of February, in 1960."

Sybill made a soft noise of interest and then nodded, her quill scratching across the parchment. "The young man's place and time of birth?"

"Yes, Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kingdom; and, 12:03 p.m."

"Is this young man a Muggle or is he of the magical world?" she asked.

Albus thought this was a significant question, and he said so. "Thank you, Professor; I hadn't thoroughly considered that point yet. He is a young wizard of my acquaintance."

Trelawney pursed her lips, reading over what she had written. Her expression was thoughtful and she seemed to have forgotten he was there momentarily.

"Would tea-time tomorrow give you enough time for casting and interpretation? We can meet in my office or here if you prefer," Albus suggested. He hoped that _Obliviation_ of the poor dear would not be necessary…but also hoped to use his own Pensieve for recording purposes at the time.

Sybill seemed to come back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "Oh! Yes, indeed, tea-time tomorrow in your office, Headmaster. I shall outline my interpretations and illuminate the chart today; it shouldn't take long." She seemed genuinely delighted at the prospect of assisting the wizard to whom she owed so much.

"Thank you for your help," he said, rising from the table and casting an inaudible Cleansing charm on his empty teacup. Dumbledore wasn't about to leave her tea leaves of any kind with which to amuse herself, by Tasseomancy or otherwise. "Please join me at four o'clock, then. Your password will be 'ex-parrot'."

"Until tomorrow," she replied, also standing. And with that, Albus sketched a courtly bow, and on impulse, reached to gently squeeze her hand before he left.

When she was sure he'd gone and the tower door had shut behind him, Sybill leaned across the table and picked up his teacup…and saw that it had been completely cleaned. "Well, drat."

Dumbledore found himself in need of some fresh air as he made his way down from the North Tower. Trelawney burned sage, mullein, and some other aromatic fragrances which she said helped with the Art of Divination, but mostly they gave him a headache that commingled with sinus pressure. Humming under his breath, he made his way out to the castle grounds, delighted to find fresh fallen snow and bright sunshine.

Albus had walked for twenty minutes or so, no particular destination in mind, and realized that he was heading down the hill toward Hagrid's hut. He smiled, thinking that he would indeed, visit the gentle half-giant. It had been a while since he last paid him a social call, and he was rather fond of the man. Dumbledore felt an almost paternal responsibility for Hagrid, ever since his days as a Hogwarts student, but even more so after he had been expelled (and his wand publicly snapped in the Great Hall) at the vehement demands of the Board of Governors: a girl had died and Rubeus Hagrid had been unfairly blamed, owing in large part to his predilection for somewhat dangerous pets.

But none of this was on the Headmaster's mind today as he pulled his cloak's collar up higher around his neck and enjoyed the crisp, clear beautiful winter day. Now that he had decided to do so, he looked forward to a chat and a visit with his loyal Gamekeeper.

As Albus neared the ramshackle but cozy hut, he could see the smoke easing cheerily from the chimney, and he grinned, remembering how Hagrid had politely refused Headmaster Dippett's offer for him to move into quarters in the castle itself, saying that he greatly preferred his more or less wide open spaces. Unfortunately, this reverie was cut short when he heard a low cry of pain coming from the base of a tree just off the path. Faster afoot than most would ever suspect of Albus Dumbledore, he hurried to see who or what was hurt.

"Oh dear," Albus breathed when he came upon his own young son, covered in melting snow, and clutching at his left hand as he struggled to stand. "Easy, easy there, Brian," he said. "Let me help you, boy." Dumbledore stepped closer and put both arms around Rollins, gingerly helping him to sit on a plain wooden bench that had been roughly hewn from a nearby log…it must have been Hagrid's handiwork to make this a favorite spot to sit and think, taking in the lovely view of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest.

"Hullo, Professor," Brian said quietly, recognizing the Headmaster at once when he squatted down in front of the boy to look more closely at him and to check him for injuries. "What are you doing out here, sir?" Rollins' eyes were glazed and he looked feverish, but he was still trying to get to his feet, seemingly unaware that he was resisting Dumbledore's hands on his elbow.

"How about you sit there a moment, Mr. Rollins," Albus said firmly, keeping a restraining hand on what he hoped was Brian's uninjured arm. He drew his wand from a pocket inside his robes. "Let me take a look at you, alright? Hold still, please." Dumbledore was no trained Healer, but he could easily run a quick medical diagnostic spell.

Brian smiled and subsided at once at the kind but authoritative tone from his school Headmaster. "Okay, sir," he replied, sounding a little confused or distracted. At least he was no longer favoring his left hand or trying to hold it protectively to his chest, rather slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers into a fist a few times as if a tingle was dissipating.

Albus knit his brow with concern, and conjured a quick phoenix _Patronus_ to fetch Hagrid, whom he fervently hoped was nearby (Albus used this means often with The Order of the Phoenix business: colleagues could summon variants of their own _Patronus_ to act as a very reliable messenger. It had proven handy in emergency situations). "Did you fall, Brian?" asked Dumbledore, checking the blue, green and red runic symbols which now floated in the air above the boy's head and shoulders.

Brian chuckled ruefully. "Not too far, for once," he said, nodding to the lowest branch near them (only about four or five feet off the snow-covered ground). "I was sitting up in the tree, drawing, and I got dizzy all of a sudden. Oh, I need to get my book, sir…" The boy leaned well over to reach his sketchbook that was lying in the snow; Albus recognized it as the same one he had seen in the Transfiguration classroom just the day before.

When he looked up again, satisfied that his drawings were safe, Albus was shocked to see the over-heated flush in his face, exacerbated by his tired and red-rimmed eyes…the boy had been the picture of health the previous afternoon in detention with Professor McGonagall. In short, Brian now looked sick and exhausted; and, despite the cold, he was sweating profusely. The elder wizard touched Brian's face gently with the back of his hand and drew it away, flinching as if he'd bumped into a lit fireplace. Albus would later recall a strong magical thrumming pulse as he touched his son's bare skin.

Dumbledore stood, tucking away his wand, and heaved him up from the bench as carefully as he could manage; Brian was not very well-balanced on his feet, and leaned on the older man as he put his arm around him to give him some support. "Come on, lad; let's get you to the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey."

Brian smiled again, clearly looking right at Albus, the expression in his eyes even more glassy and distant than it had been a minute earlier; he was weakening rapidly it seemed. "Okay, Dad. It won't take long, will it? I don't feel well today…" he said, very softly. And with that, he fainted into his father's arms.

Luckily, Hagrid came hurrying up at that very moment. "Oops, oops, here now! I came as quick as I could, Perfessor Dumbledore, sir," he said as he caught Brian up in one hand and kept Dumbledore from falling on the slope with the other. "Tch, tch, poor boy, Squid…out here catching a chill…I've got him, sir." As if Brian were a limp rag doll, Hagrid easily scooped him up and cradled him securely in both arms.

Albus literally had to shake his head to pay attention as he steadied on his own two feet, not sure if he had heard Brian correctly. No, he had heard correctly. "Thank you, Hagrid. I was coming out to pay you a friendly visit when I came across…let's get up to Madam Pomfrey though. I'll call ahead." Taking out his wand for a second time in as many minutes, Albus conjured another _Patronus_ and sent it to the castle's hospital wing; the Head nurse would be expecting them shortly. As he hurried along beside Hagrid, he conjured a third phoenix messenger to let Minerva know what had happened.

When the trio reached the hospital wing, Poppy Pomfrey was there waiting to escort them into a private exam room; a number of students were already occupying beds on her ward, most suffering from cold weather illnesses, or from holiday over-indulgences of all sorts. She caught the look of grave concern on the Headmaster's face, and was glad she'd thought of the enhanced privacy that one of the tiny rooms would give them.

"Right here if you please, Hagrid," she said crisply, indicating the bed near a stand of her instruments and assorted vials of commonly-used medicinal potions. Pomfrey was efficient in her magical removal of Brian's wet jacket, snow-boots and clothes while she ran through several rapid diagnostic spells; she was most concerned about his elevated body temperature. "Forty point three degrees. That is far too high for this child. Fiona, extra blankets please, dear." The new assistant Medi-witch immediately left to get them from the other room; they would chill the fabric to bring his temperature down safely.

As Brian lay there on the exam bed, stripped to his undershorts and sweating profusely, he had not yet regained consciousness. But when Albus stepped nearer to the bed, Brian gave a cry of dismay and suddenly sat upright and grabbed onto him. The boy clutched tightly at his robes, burying his face in Dumbledore's beard and chest, and weeping with pain.

"Dad! Dad, it hurts," he sobbed. "It really hurts."

Albus hesitated only a moment, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped his son in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. His skin felt hot to the touch, even under so much perspiration. "I'm sorry, Brian, it's alright. Can you tell us what hurts?" Instinctively, Dumbledore rubbed the boy's back in soothing, random circles, and held his head closer. "Shh, I know, son…" He could detect his son's racing heartbeat underneath palm of his circling hand.

Brian couldn't answer right away as another wave of pain washed over him (and Albus felt another surge of magic emitting from bare skin). Fighting to get his breathing back under control, Brian choked back a gasping sob. "My head hurts, and I'm so hot," he managed to say. "Dad, please make it stop!" A low groan escaped from the back of his throat, though he tried to suppress it. Beads of sweat dripped from his hair onto the bed and mingled with the tears he shed on the velvet of Albus' robes.

Both Pomfrey and Hagrid looked at each other, their eyes widening, but it was the Head nurse who recovered first. "Albus, if you can get him to lie here, we can cool him down more easily," she said gently, forcing herself back into a more detached clinical mode. Dumbledore nodded and wordlessly conjured away his heavy cloak and hat. He looked up and knew that all three of them wore the same expressions of genuine concern.

"Brian? Son? Madam Pomfrey is going to help you, but you need to lie down on this bed for her," he whispered in his son's ear. "It won't hurt a bit, we promise." Dumbledore concentrated on regulating his own magical pulse, hoping to calm Brian with his voice and his closeness. He fervently hoped it was the right thing to do.

This brought on another groan. "I can't. I can't let go," said Brian, shaking his head and holding on to the front of Albus' robes more tightly than before.

"You are being very brave, Brian. Just a wee bit longer and then Madam Pomfrey can give you a potion that will help, alright?" Dumbledore told him, carefully disengaging the boy's fingers and easing him back. "The Healers need to run additional diagnostics now; will you try to lie down here for me please?"

"Yes, sir," he panted. "Ahhh! Please Dad, please…" From the way Brian's breathing had quickened, they could all see that the pain was rising and subsiding for some as yet unknown reason. As he lay back, closing his eyes tightly, his legs convulsed and it was as if he were trying to curl into a compact ball, fighting against an inner agony. Every muscle in his body was cramping.

The Medi-witch assistant had returned and placed several rolled blankets near Brian's head and passed others to Poppy, who tucked them along his arms and legs. The Head nurse whispered Cooling charms for each blanket, directing Albus to carefully hold Brian's arms at his sides. He seemed to relax almost immediately as the cooler cloths started to work on bringing his temperature down. Madam Pomfrey conjured a light blanket to cover his chest and body, so that he didn't get chilled too quickly. Her assistant, Fiona, dampened a soft flannel cloth to wipe Brian's forehead and face; tears and sweat drenched him.

Hagrid made his way to the door while she was tucking the last blanket around Brian, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes with the back of his thumb (his own father had died while he had still been at school). "I'm taking up too much space in here now, sir, but I'll see if I can't find Professor McGonagall straight away." It was an honest observation on his part: Hagrid always looked too big to be allowed indoors, even in the Great Hall of the castle.

Albus looked up and nodded with sincere gratitude, his blue eyes bright as a lone tear trickled down the side of his very crooked nose, disappearing into his silvered beard. "Thank you, lad; I truly do appreciate what you do for us," he said softly. Hagrid was one of the few who really knew about Dumbledore, McGonagall and now, Rollins.

Minerva rushed in, rather out of breath from her run across the castle in her Animagus gray tabby cat form, just as Poppy was administering another diagnostic spell over the length of Brian's body. Her eyes flew open when she saw Albus sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the boy's hand in both of his; Brian's breathing had returned more or less to normal, but he was still hot to the touch and had already soaked through the light covering blanket they had tucked around him.

"I got your _Patronus_…what happened? Poppy, is he alright?" She came over to stand beside her husband and her son, tossing her pointed witch's hat toward the extra bedside chair. The Healers worked from the other side of the narrow bed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded abruptly as she read the runic symbols that flowed from the tip of her wand. "Brian spiked a dangerously high fever, Min; we still do not know why and are hoping it is under control now." She turned to her assistant. "Let's replace this blanket and refresh the Cooling charms a bit…I think his body temperature is steady now; too hot, but it's not rising at the moment." The young Healer went quietly and efficiently about her tasks, her attention focused on their patient.

"Mom, you're here," Brian said weakly, recognizing her voice, his eyes remaining tightly shut. He was gradually relaxing as the heat and pain in his head subsided. At least his knuckles were no longer white where he held his father's hand.

Minerva didn't question the situation; she simply reacted on pure maternal instinct. "Yes, Angel, I'm here. Please lie very still while Madam Pomfrey looks after you," she told him, placing a supportive hand on Albus' shoulder, and the other on Brian's damp forehead. She leaned down and kissed her son's hair, brushing it back from his face as she caressed him.

"I will." He gave a relieved sigh and Brian seemed to calm even more when she gently touched his bare skin, and Albus could now feel a slightly different magical pulse transmitted from the boy's hand to his.

The Medi-witch assistant handed her Head nurse a small parchment and went to the cabinet off to one side of the room. "Thank you, Fiona," Poppy replied lightly. When the young witch returned carrying three glass vials, she looked them over and gave her approval. "We'll go with half-doses for the next few hours…watchful waiting, and I don't want to over-tax him in the least."

"I didn't know you had a son, Professor McGonagall," Fiona commented shyly. "You must be very pleased to have him here at school with you." Her glance took in both the Headmaster and McGonagall.

Minerva finally remembered the young witch from at least ten years prior; a quiet and kind Hufflepuff student of Pomona Sprout's House, who had obviously qualified as a Healer and returned to her alma mater to continue her studies of Wizarding medicine with Poppy Pomfrey.

"Thank you, yes, he is our only child," McGonagall said, smiling and trying to recall the woman's last name. "Fiona Ross, is it? I'm glad you came back to us as well."

"Poppy," Albus interjected. "Brian's magic is pulsing oddly; I can feel it in my hands."

"I detected that earlier, but there was no indication of the cause, and no infectious agent was shown. It is not a magical drain, I'm sure; that would give us a different signal in the diagnostic," she replied, shaking her head in mild puzzlement, re-checking the parchment. "Let's sit him up, carefully now, to take these potions." With Pomfrey on one side, and Albus on the other, they gently eased the boy into a seated position; Fiona Ross brought a clean nightshirt over to Minerva which they would put on him after he drank down his medicinal potions.

"Brian? This is Nurse Pomfrey, dear," said Poppy, letting Dumbledore bear the weight of supporting him upright. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replied, opening his eyes; they were bloodshot and he winced against the bright light in the room. Brian looked around to one side and managed a little smile for Minerva. "Hi, Mom." She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and tapped him tenderly on the tip of his nose, concerned at the glassiness in his eyes; to Albus, he still looked tired and weak, but a bit more alert than he had been.

Pomfrey held up the three tiny vials; one brown glass, the other two clear crystal. "I need you to drink all of these, Brian. They don't taste very nice but they will do the job safely, alright? We need to get this fever down and these will help with that."

Brian made a face as he put each one in turn to his lips and swallowed the thick liquids. He gratefully accepted a cup of fresh water to rinse the noxious flavors out of his mouth, sipping from the straw which the young assistant held for him. "Thanks." After toweling off his hair once more, Fiona helped McGonagall get him into the nightshirt.

As he settled back down onto the pillow, Madam Pomfrey leaned over to speak to him again; she dimmed the lights in the exam room with a flick of her wrist, noting with satisfaction that his pupils were dilating normally and the photophobia had diminished. "The Calming potion will take effect quickly now; you may begin to feel sleepy from it and that's fine."

"Yes, I can feel it working, I think," he said, sounding groggy. His eyes blinked twice, very slowly, and his breathing was calm and even.

"Good lad. The other two were mild pain relievers; your muscles are going to be sore later, I should think," said Poppy, tucking a fresh light blanket around him. "Your Mum, Dad and I are going to figure out what happened, so no worries for you, young man." Minerva was glad, not for the first time, that Head nurse Poppy Pomfrey had always had a naturally reassuring bedside manner. Even back when the two witches were at school together, Poppy was easy to talk to and to simply be around.

He smiled as his eyes were closing. "Okay." He gave his father's hand a feeble squeeze before his head shifted slightly on the pillow, and within heartbeats, he was sound asleep.

"Thirty-nine point six," Pomfrey reported, reading additional runes that streamed from her wand as she ran the next diagnostic spell. "Set your monitor to check on Mr. Rollins at thirty minute intervals, if you please, Fiona. I need to speak to his parents privately a moment."

Fiona Ross nodded briefly and looked at the two senior Hogwarts faculty members. "We'll see him right, Headmaster," she said quietly as she left the exam room.

Once the young assistant had exited, Poppy turned to Albus and placed a warm hand on his arm. "I'll _Obliviate_ her myself, if you feel it necessary, Albus. But I don't think it will be," Poppy told him. "It may be good for Brian's treatment if she knows who you are."

Dumbledore had removed his glasses and was rubbing his eyes. He sighed. "I'd say you had added Legilimency to your repertoire of skills if I didn't know better, Healer Pomfrey."

Minerva had to chuckle softly in spite of the situation. "We can deal with that later. Why would Albus be feeling Brian's magical pulse?"

"He knew me, Minerva, earlier when I found him outside and again when the fever was peaking here just a while ago," Dumbledore said, nodding affirmatively at her look of surprise. "Brian very clearly called me 'Dad', several times in fact. And he recognized your voice…called you 'Mom' with his eyes closed."

McGonagall looked to the school matron, who confirmed this. "I won't know for sure until this afternoon or this evening when I can speak to him, and ask a few questions," Pomfrey began as she refreshed the Cooling charms on the rolled blankets which surrounded Brian's body; they could speak quietly without disturbing the boy, and still reassure themselves by watching over him as he slept.

"But that's what I think this was," she continued. "A severe asynchronicity of his magical pulse. Did he have a bad fall or an accident recently? Not necessarily a magical accident; our students are well-protected by the wards of the castle, and so few of them are in residence over the Christmas holiday."

Albus shook his head. "He said he fell out of that juniper tree near Hagrid's, only about four feet or so, and into a relatively deep snow bank."

"There wasn't any bruising, or signs of concussion though," Poppy commented. "What was he doing out at Hagrid's?"

"Drawing in his little sketchbook over there." Albus nodded over to the bedside table, cleaning and replacing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "We think it's a dream journal of some kind. He wrote an inscription to that effect."

Minerva recognized the fabric-covered book, and opened it to a page she knew Poppy would find intriguing.

"The Scott Monument in Edinburgh?" asked the Head nurse, a puzzled look on her face. "Interesting; what an odd perspective though." She took the book as McGonagall offered it to her, flipping carefully to other pages of Brian's pencil drawings. "They're all in this odd perspective. I think this one is the Palace of Holyrood or Holyroodhouse; I'm not sure of the proper name."

Brian stirred in the narrow bed, muttering unintelligibly as he rolled over onto his right side. Poppy smiled and conjured a five-foot long pillow parallel to the right side of his body; he immediately wrapped his arms and legs around it and settled down again, appearing to be sleeping very soundly now. She adjusted the Cooling charms again, and ran another diagnostic spell over his body before re-tucking his lightweight flannel blanket.

"The fever's come down to thirty-nine degrees," she told his relieved parents. "That's very good, in fact."

"That's an awfully clever pillow, Poppy," Minerva observed, glad to see her friend smiling at the diagnostic results. "What is it?"

"Brilliant Muggle invention; they call it a 'body pillow'," said Madam Pomfrey. "The children sleep so much better here in hospital with them!"

TBC

A/N: so you don't have to do your own metric conversions…40.3°C corresponds to 104.5°F; 39.6°C to 103.3°F; and, 39°C to 102.2°F (all classified as "high" or "very high" fevers in children; severe headache and hallucinations would be other possible symptoms). My chemistry students are using the metric system now, albeit rather reluctantly!


	15. Chapter 15

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: "Alternate universe"; not compliant with HBP, DH, or recent "revelations" (of course, YMMV).

Some of the Wizarding principles of medicine are adapted/modified to fit this storyline, and may be somewhat familiar to readers of the epic ADMM work entitled "Resolving a Misunderstanding" by MMADfan. If you have not yet read this one, please believe that it is well worth your effort (nigh over 100 chapters at the time of this writing). She promises a happy ending so that we won't need to smack Albus in the head for being so thick!

Chapter 15/??

Harmonious Synchronicity 

As Madam Pomfrey predicted, Brian slept soundly until the late afternoon, wrapped comfortably around his blue-covered and Charm-cooled Muggle-style "body pillow", and she was in his room consulting with her assistant when he actually woke up. It was a muffled groan in reaction to rather stiff arm and leg muscles as he tried to sit up in bed that got their attention.

"Well, hello again, Mr. Rollins," Poppy said, smiling gently at him and reaching around to support his shoulders. "Here, let us help you. Easy does it." Both she and Fiona Ross were able to prop him up on pillows, removing the extra rolled-up blankets as they did so.

"Thank you," he croaked softly, reaching for the cup of water on the nightstand. Clearing his throat after a tentative sip, Brian tried again. "Um, thank you; much better."

Healer Ross nodded at Madam Pomfrey, obviously responding to a prior instruction. "I'll be right back. I think Roslin is our on-call house-elf today."

"Very good, thank you Fiona," said Madam Pomfrey as the younger Medi-witch turned to leave.

Poppy refilled his water when he asked for more (he did seem rather thirsty), and then began running a diagnostic spell as she continued her examination. "Hmm, still a bit of a fever going though, thirty-eight point three; how are you feeling? Any pain, Brian?"

"Just sore, in my muscles all over. I think I slept fairly well anyway. One of the potions you said was a 'Calming potion'," he replied, yawning slightly as he watched the runic symbols Pomfrey was checking near his chest. She quietly noted his attentive curiosity, and approved. He no longer seemed to be sensitive to the lights or at least not to the same degree as he had been that morning.

"Good lad. I will give you something for the soreness when Fiona gets back; it's not uncommon to have muscle cramping when a magical pulse goes off-track like yours did," she told him. "Any headache, dizziness?"

"Yes, ma'am. A little of both, actually."

He cautiously leaned back onto the upright stack of pillows and rested while she held his wrist in her warm hand, checking his heart rate; Poppy sometimes did hands-on Muggle-style medical examinations to clarify in her own mind what she determined magically. Brian noticed a painting on the wall he hadn't seen there before: a mountainous lakeside landscape with some picnickers off in the distance; he had only recently gotten used to wizarding paintings and photographs that moved as he'd grown up in a completely Muggle household.

She pursed her lips, and looked at him in admonishment. "I don't like that your blood sugar is as low as it is; when did you last eat a proper meal?"

Brian shrugged. "Christmas night, I think. It was turkey sandwiches but I haven't had much appetite since then. No wait, I had tea and these lemon squares with Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore yesterday afternoon," he said, and then he chuckled a little sheepishly. "My own mother had to give me detention for being out after curfew the other night."

"Ah, good. So you do still remember that part of your day," Poppy said brightly. She had a sudden insight. "What makes you think that Professor McGonagall is your mother? And that Headmaster Dumbledore is your father?" The Head nurse wasn't trying to be cruel; she just wanted to see if he could articulate what he was feeling.

He looked down at his left hand, flexing it as a mild tingling began suddenly. "When I was drawing and I started feeling really hot this morning, my hand was bothering me…like now. No, it doesn't hurt this time," he said in answer to her questioning look. "Just, I dunno, weird. My Dad picked me up out of the snow and I _knew_ who he was when he touched me; the same thing happened when I heard Mom come in, and then she touched me too. I can't really explain better than that. Besides…nobody told me otherwise, did they, Madam Pomfrey?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling at him. "Physical contact will make the magical and emotional connections closer than they already are…and, yes, they truly are your Mum and Dad," she assured the youngster with a kind smile. She held his left arm carefully and ran her wand directly over it. A stream of runic symbols flowed from the end to float just above Brian's hand. "What do you feel now? That isn't your wand side?"

"No ma'am, I'm right-handed. This is little pins and needles tingling, like I just woke up and had been sleeping on my hands and arms," he replied, clenching his left hand into a tight fist and then relaxing his long, slender fingers. "There. It's gone again. Much faster now for some reason"

"Interesting, but back to my previous question, and it concerns your low blood sugar levels. If I understood you correctly, your last proper meal of any kind was Tuesday night? Today is _Friday_, Brian; Friday afternoon to be precise."

"I know. Sometimes I just don't feel very hungry." He looked away from her when he said this, and Poppy noticed the change in his voice. To her discerning ear, he sounded sad or maybe even a little depressed.

"Are you sleeping well? Other than today, I mean," asked Madam Pomfrey, noting his somewhat withdrawn body language; he brought the blanket further up his legs and folded his hands in his lap.

Brian shook his head; she could see tears forming in his bright blue eyes. "No, not really." The Head nurse knew him well enough by now that he simply did not resort to monosyllabic answers when responding to a school faculty member―something was wrong.

"What is it, child? Did you have a bad Christmas this year?"

She had counseled hundreds of students over the years, and for a variety of reasons. Poppy hoped that this young man would trust her enough to share for she dearly loved his parents, and had even known and cared for this boy as a tiny, tiny infant.

"Not at all; I had a great day with Ron, Harry and the rest of the guys," he began reluctantly, and then he heaved a sigh and plowed onward. "It's just that every Christmas night, I get this…funky mood, I guess…and very strange dreams that last a week or two straight. It's like I don't know where I am or who I'm with, that kind of thing. I wake up unhappy and really disoriented." Brian hesitated with what he knew he would say next. "It happens every year, and this one seemed worse than usual…" _With the Mirror of Erised_, he thought but did not dare speak aloud.

"I can see where that would be bothersome, Brian," she said noncommittally, subtly encouraging him to continue. "Odd dreams can discombobulate you for an entire day if you don't watch for it."

"Right, and it's ironic given what happened to me this morning," said Brian, shrugging again. "I mean, I know I was adopted when I was very young…as a baby, about six months old or so…but I don't know where I was born, or what my real name is, or anything like that. And I see buildings from Edinburgh, of all places; but that can't be right since I don't think I've ever been there before. How can I dream of a place I've never even been?"

He leaned over to take up his sketchbook; flipped to the page he'd been last working on and passed it to the Head matron. "I only know that some of the pictures I draw are specifically from there because the couple who adopted me have these travel books," he continued, fidgeting distractedly with the edge of the blanket. "I have no idea whether the school library here would have that sort of thing or not."

Poppy had already looked at his pencil-sketch of the Sir William Scott monument, with its very distinctive and sharp Gothic-style spires. Talking just now with Brian had jogged her memory regarding other landmarks in the beautiful Scottish capitol city. She mentally noted that he had also drawn the Edinburgh Castle and the Salisbury Crags to name a few, but Pomfrey kept her face carefully neutral when she handed the book back to him. He closed it and set it back on the nightstand beside the drawing pencil.

"There might be, you never know; you could ask Madam Pince to help find something in the Muggle Studies section," she suggested. "I really would like for you to eat a little something to get you back on your feet. Do you think you can manage some soup?"

The boy gave a slight shrug. "I guess so."

Fiona Ross had just returned bearing a serving tray. "I'm sorry I took so long, Nurse Poppy. The house-elves helped me to modify some of the ingredients," she reported with a pink tinge of embarrassment on her cheeks.

Pomfrey gave her a fond smile. "Not to worry, dear." She moved a narrow table closer to where Brian sat up in bed, and Transfigured it just enough so that it rested above his lap. That way, he could sit and eat comfortably. Ross carefully slid the tray onto the table and with a flourish, removed the silver cover. She retrieved two small crystal vials from a pocket of her robes, and handed them to the Head nurse.

Brian leaned over, sniffing appreciatively at the steam wafting from the bowl. "It does smell good; what is it?" He put the napkin in his lap, picked up the spoon and did not hesitate to try the warm broth.

"A family recipe for barley and mutton soup," said Fiona, her soft Scottish burr coming out now. "My great-great-grandmother was a Muggle from up near John O'Groats at the very tip-top of Scotland." She laughed softly. "The rest of us were just ordinary magical Highlanders."

Ross and Pomfrey shared a subtle look at this friendly teasing jab―Poppy grew up around Lands' End, the very opposite point, lengthwise, on the UK main island. In fact, that area of Britain had always been well represented in their House (Hufflepuff).

Poppy shook her head at her assistant's comment and was still smiling when she turned back to Brian. "Right-o. Mr. Rollins, a dose of vitamin potion has been added to Healer Ross' lovely soup here, and it will make your urine rather colorful when you use the toilet. What color it'll actually turn out to be ultimately depends on your system."

Brian grinned a little and his eyes widened. "It will, really? Cool!"

Both Medi-witches laughed at that; Madam Pomfrey was pleased to see that their patient had cheered up somewhat as he ate, despite being still feverish. "Such a Gryffie you are, young man! Not an atypical reaction from our more adventurous students, I see," she teased. "So, a bit of soup first, then take these two potions: one does contain quinine since you told me about the aching muscles and cramping. The other is a mild Calming potion so you can rest, alright? I recommend you take it easy this weekend; that way you'll be healthy by the start of the January term the week after next."

Rollins nodded, swallowing a bite of his dinner roll. "Yes, ma'am; I will. Oh, wait! Can we get word to Harry or Ron to feed my cat up in the dorm? I've been looking after Hermione's too while she's away over the school break."

Pomfrey patted his leg gently. "Already done. Professor McGonagall spoke to your mates about that, and instructed them to see me immediately if they start feeling ill," she reassured him. "Just a precaution, mind. I don't think you're contagious."

He nodded again, and a look of concern crept into his expressive eyes. "Can my Mom and Dad come to see me? Is that okay?" Her heart was touched when he sounded so shy about asking for such a thing.

The Head nurse gathered up her parchments as she prepared to step out of the room, and she gave a chuckle. "I honestly don't think I could prevent it," she joked. "They were here all day until I shooed them along to get some rest themselves. But yes, your folks will be back this evening, Brian. I'll be in my office for a wee while catching up on patient's charts and Fiona will help you clean up." She patted his leg again as she left.

Fiona Ross busied herself while Brian finished eating, coming back to stand at his side when he was ready to take the quinine potion. He eased the table and tray aside, sighing with contentment; the soup, roll and juice had been a light, yet satisfying meal.

"That was really good, thank you," he told her sincerely, blushing a little as he started to squirm from another sensation―a consequence of his mostly fluids intake that day.

She noticed. "The loo is in there, and a shower as well," said Fiona, suppressing a smile. "Do you need me to help you stand?"

Brian blushed even redder when the pretty young witch took his arm and waist, supporting him as he gingerly got up from the bed. A flick of her hand and the table with its meal tray slid obediently to the wall out of the way.

"I was just going to ask you all three of those questions, and in that order," he said. "Are you a mind-reader?"

Fiona giggled a little as she made sure he was steady on his own legs, not commenting that he modestly made sure his nightshirt covered his undershorts. "No, but I have two brothers who always hated not being able to stand for a pee when they were sick." Brian snickered, shaking his head at her joke.

"Go ahead; clean pajamas, toilet, shower," she said, indicating the items in the little side room. "I'll freshen up the bed linens and get your other potion ready. If you need me, I'm right close by."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Minerva, Albus," said Poppy as she entered her office, carrying a stack of parchments and dropping them on her desk. Dumbledore rose, as he usually did, and waited for her to join them in the small conference area; he'd gone ahead and Transfigured one of her wooden office chairs into a two-seat cushioned settee and the other into a high-back upholstered armchair. He and Minerva shared the couch and they looked rather anxious to hear from her about Brian.

She smiled, reaching to touch Minerva's arm. "Relax, both of you. He's fine. The fever is still there, but he had a little something to eat just now, and is probably going to take a shower before he gets back to bed. Fiona is with him."

"Oh, Poppy," Minerva said, finally letting out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thank you…when can we see Brian? I would really like to talk to him, that is, if he wants to talk to me."

"He asked to see you, in fact," Pomfrey replied, her nod taking in both of the parents; she was glad that they appeared to have taken her advice and tried to rest a bit…McGonagall at least was wearing fresh robes. "I want him to rest an hour or so more and that will give me time to examine you two."

"Examine us? Whatever for?" Albus wanted to know. He had taken his wife's hand and was holding it on the cushion between them. Dumbledore now looked mildly uncomfortable as he shifted on the paisley-patterned settee.

Poppy gave a soft laugh. "You'd think at your age you wouldn't be nervous about taking a medical, Albus." The Headmaster grunted but did not reply as the Head nurse stood over him. "It's easier to just go ahead and show you rather than to explain it. Won't hurt a bit."

She held her wand over his head, murmuring an incantation as the runes floated lazily in the air. Making a quiet noise of interest, Pomfrey repeated the movement and incantation over McGonagall, and a different stream of runes floated before her.

"There," she directed this last to Albus. "Do you need a sweet or a lolly to get over this traumatic exam?" Poppy and Minerva shared a glance at this very old inside joke between the two of them; even before he had married his beautiful green-eyed witch in 1957, Hogwarts School Matrons had traditionally had a hard time getting the Transfiguration Master (who later became Headmaster) to look after himself. Pomfrey had enlisted Minerva's influence in this regard very early on.

Dumbledore reached into his royal blue and gold robes and pulled his packet of sherbet lemons from an inside pocket. "An excellent idea," he agreed, popping two into his mouth and then offering to the witches with a twinkle in his eyes. They politely declined, as he knew they would.

Minerva shook her head fondly at her husband. Albus was endearingly hopeless when it came to the lemon candies; she had never known anyone with such a powerful "sweet tooth".

"You mentioned before that you believed Brian's illness was _not_ caused by a magical drain," the boy's mother asked cautiously. "Do you still believe that?"

She knew that the wards of Hogwarts castle were designed to protect its students from magical accidents, especially when the witches and wizards were under-aged. McGonagall made a mental note to send a letter to Juliette Rollins, asking if Brian had ever had a magical accident of any kind when he was younger; most wizarding children did (Minerva's biggest coming at around age eight…her mother's ceramic tea set had been blasted to smithereens from the uncontrolled outburst).

Pomfrey nodded with certainty. "Oh, indeed, I'm now sure it was something else entirely. Here, Albus' magical signature will be in purple; yours in green, Min." She adjusted the runes that still floated between the three of them. "Observe that these are nicely synchronous as you would expect from being together for so long." She made a subtle adjustment of her wand, and an orange-colored sinusoidal wave appeared. "And this is Brian's, but recorded this morning when you brought him in."

They looked at the three brightly colored curves, each not much more than a squiggle, but most apparent was how out of synch the orange and purple lines were.

Albus was surprised. "No wonder the boy was in such pain. Did my magic alter his signature that much, Poppy? He was nearly in agony with it." Dumbledore hated the thought that he could even unintentionally cause another person to hurt so much, and certainly not his only son.

"Yes and no. Look at Brian's magical signal from just now at four o'clock," said Pomfrey; making another adjustment and a yellow curve appeared from the end of her wand, noticeably different from the orange one. "Still not quite there, but much improved I would say."

Minerva traced the green and yellow floating lines with her delicate fingertip. "These two signatures are very much in synch, not exact copies though. Mine and Brian's?"

Poppy nodded, smiling. "Yes, you and he, mother and son have harmonious magic; maybe even similar aptitudes as he progresses. Has he been working closely with you of late, other than his usual classes or Gryffindor Tower activities?"

McGonagall's face took on an even gentler look. "Yesterday's detention in my classroom, and it seemed a natural extension of what we started talking about. We will soon begin some Animagus research together."

"Good. That will be quite good for him, I think, and of course, you are his Head of House. Albus, has Brian ever been over-wrought in your presence? An unusually strong emotional reaction perhaps, like very angry or very frightened?"

Dumbledore shifted in his seat again, looking thoughtful. "At least once, no twice; the first was at the disciplinary hearing in November, and the second was Boxing Day night," he looked at Minerva rather guiltily. "We attributed it to having inherited a spectacular Scottish…temper, so to speak." McGonagall glanced away, stifling a snicker and reddening, trying not to look too pleased.

"I told him a few minutes ago that he was quite the fearless Gryffie; I haven't noticed anything the boy might be afraid of yet," Pomfrey chuckled, clapping her hands and reaching to pat her old schoolmate's shoulder. "That temper theory may well be the right one in the long run, but I think we could better explain it at the moment as an asynchronicity brought on by you, Albus."

"He was reacting to _me_?"

"I would say he's been trying to align with you since he arrived here at Hogwarts. Your magical signature anyway, and it seems to be sorting itself out as he gets more rest and his wizarding education proceeds apace. Probably unawares, he has been expending a lot of energy to correct the mis-alignment" said the Head nurse. "Usually this is seen when a witch is pregnant; it's often a cause of miscarriages when the mother and the baby are out of synch. There can sometimes be a…difficult mixture, for lack of a better term…of magic between the woman and the father of her children."

"And he told me of his rather fragile emotional state these days; apparently Christmas is a trying time for Brian, and his dreams become upsetting," Poppy told them. "The Muggles would call it post-holiday depression, but I believe it's more than that. Subconsciously, he has been trying to find you two for years. Not unlike Muggle adopted children, he wants very much to meet his biological parents."

"Decades, more like," Albus offered in a quiet voice, suddenly feeling the need to kiss Minerva's fingers. "It's been more than forty-seven years since the Rollinses took him in, dearest."

Minerva nodded, squeezing his hand in hers. "Any ideas on why he still appears so incredibly young Poppy? I'm not complaining, mind, just curious."

"Based on his date of birth? Not really. The last time I was in the public library in London, I did find a Muggle publication on 'Leapsters'―that's what they call children born on February 29th, but none of them report anything that might be considered magical."

She paused, hesitating since she knew of her friend's disregard for Divination of all kinds. "You could always calculate his birth chart. See if that tells us anything new."

"I have an appointment with Professor Trelawney tomorrow afternoon, in fact," said Dumbledore. "I felt it necessary to go with an outside, erm, expert. And I used a pseudonym, of course…" he said this last in response to Minerva's questioning look.

"Good, more information anyway; that can't hurt," Poppy replied, sighing. "I do have some less than happy news to share with you. Unfortunately."

"Will Brian recover from this illness?" asked McGonagall. She leaned forward, concerned.

"He will get back to normal very quickly; I can assure you of that, probably in the next day or so as we get him eating properly again," answered the Head nurse. "But I believe he will go back to _not_ remembering you as Mum and Dad when the fever is gone. I'm sorry."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Albus and Minerva were sitting together in Brian's room when he woke up again, a little after seven that evening (as was his habit, Dumbledore had Transfigured a straight-backed wooden chair into something a bit more comfortable for his wife and himself). When the boy looked around sleepily, he noticed them sitting quietly, holding hands as they waited in the dimly lit surroundings.

"Mom!" he gave a happy cry as he leapt from the bed and into her arms. Minerva could not have imagined a more enthusiastic greeting from anyone she'd ever known. "It is you!"

"Yes, it is I, Brian," she said, leaning over his head as he wrapped her in a tight embrace, his skinny arms reaching around her waist. She kissed his cheeks and his forehead, trying to smooth back his tousled dark curly hair. "How are you feeling? You had us worried this morning."

He still felt hot to her touch, but Poppy assured her that the fever was now under control. Minerva was torn by what she could expect when his body temperature returned to normal; she longed to tell him who she really was, and at a time when he would be able to remember her.

"I'm fine, really, I'm fine," he replied, grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Albus. "Hi, Dad!"

"Hello, boy," Albus managed as Brian climbed up onto his chest and held on with both arms and both legs, wrapping himself bodily around the tall wizard (now Dumbledore could appreciate his son's whimsical nickname of "Squid", he was being squeezed that tightly). The boy pressed his smooth cheek against the tickling white whiskers, and closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment.

As Minerva looked on, with tears threatening to fall, she felt a rush of great affection for them both. Albus had closed his eyes too, returning the warm hug and whispering…

"I love you, son."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. _Darnit_.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: We finally hear from Sybill Trelawney, and friends of the Headmaster and his Deputy will plan a New Year's Eve party. As always, this Alternate Universe is neither HBP- nor DH-compliant.

There is a hint of citrus in this one.

Chapter 16/??

What the Seer Saw 

Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall was not prepared for the depth of disappointment which she felt when Brian stopped by her office the next morning, and it was all she could do to keep from allowing the tears to show in her eyes when he sat across from her desk during their brief conversation. Normally, she kept her emotions tightly under control, but with Brian it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so; part of her wondered if the boy had inherited an innate ability for Legilimency from his father.

He had been released from the hospital wing after breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey had instructed him not to overdo it for the next few days; to get plenty of rest and to be sure to eat at least three healthy meals each day. Brian was prescribed a nightly vitamin-supplementing potion, and had already scheduled a follow-up appointment to meet with the Head nurse again in three days time; she wanted him to keep working with his dream journal and to make note of any physiological reactions he might experience. The tingling sensations in his left hand had all but stopped (she finally attributed it to an arcing effect…excess magic from his internal alignments and adjustments was simply released and safely dissipated back to the castle itself) and Poppy wanted to make sure that his magical signature was back on track before classes resumed in January, when he'd need to use it again for his coursework.

It wasn't that Minerva was unhappy that Brian had recovered from his sudden illness and fever; she would never wish harm on her only child for any reason. No, the source of her distress was that he no longer consciously recognized her as his mother, and when he addressed her, as politely as he always did, it was "Professor McGonagall" once again. Even Poppy's warning that this would be the case did not lessen her heartache.

Albus was working in his office that morning, catching up on Ministry and Wizengamot correspondence, and Minerva was in hers, attempting to write letters and lesson plans for the January term. Try as she might though, she was unable to fully concentrate on the stack of parchments in front of her, and she soon realized that she had been staring at the same page for a quarter of an hour.

_Bugger_, she thought with irritation, in a rare use of mild profanity. "I need a walk," McGonagall said aloud to the empty room and, with a flick of her wrist, she Summoned a heavy wool tartan cloak, gloves and hat from their places on her coat tree.

It was another clear and crisp winter's morning that Saturday, although snow clouds threatened to the east, they would not blanket Hogwarts until later in the afternoon. Minerva followed the stone path from the castle steps to the front gates; by the time she reached the tall, enchanted wrought-iron, her cheeks were rosy and her head was clear.

She smiled to herself when she headed along the cobbled pathway: Hagrid had already been out, busy with keeping the snow cleared for those brave few who ventured outside. Her brisk pace kept her warm but she gratefully took a seat upon a stone bench some thirty minutes later. McGonagall conjured a small blue flame for herself; it gave pleasing warmth to her bench and to a sphere some three feet around her.

Minerva's thoughts turned to Brian and the all too brief visit she and Albus had shared with him the night before. When he awoke and found them sitting in his hospital room, he had been so very pleased to see them. They had a snack later of sandwiches and juice (Poppy had shared with them her concern regarding his lack of appetite and Minerva had taken up the task gladly; she'd cook for him, Muggle-style if need be) but mostly the three of them just sat in warm closeness, talking quietly as the boy cuddled first one, and then the other of his parents.

"Look at these hands, Albus," Minerva had commented at some point in the evening. "Do you play a musical instrument, Brian? With such strong, slender fingers…maybe piano?"

Her son had blushed in his usual endearing way before he answered. "Actually, I was given a choice of piano lessons or dance lessons when I was six years old, because I lost a bet with my mother…I mean, Juliette."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, leaning over to pat the boy's knee. "Ah, it usually is a wager that gets us men into these things, isn't it? Which did you pick, son?"

"Dance sounded like a lot more fun than piano to me at the time, and I didn't mind that the classes were more girls than guys," Brian admitted with a shrug. "It was all of the ballroom styles like waltzes and foxtrots, and I kept going for about three or four years…yes, four. That and swim team were my main after-school things; I liked both."

"Ballroom dance lessons? How wonderful!" Minerva exclaimed. "I'm glad I picked out those dress robes for you."

Brian looked puzzled for a moment, and then he smiled with understanding as he recalled one of his anonymous Christmas gifts. "The blue ones? They're a neat color, Mom. Thank you." He grinned, reminding her so much of Albus when he was particularly pleased with himself.

"It is my pleasure, Angel," she said as he hugged her again. "I'm happy that you like the color because I thought of you as soon as I saw them at Madam Malkin's shop…we'll have to come up with a special occasion for a dance so you can wear them."

"I would like to. Maybe tomorrow or the day after I can come…" Brian paused, catching a look that passed between the witch and the wizard, sensing the change in his mother's mood immediately. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"Madam Pomfrey has told us that you will not…remember who we are when your fever is gone," Albus said softly. "It is this brief illness that is allowing your subconscious mind to release your memories of us."

The boy's face fell. "But I don't want to forget you! I just found…"

"We cannot forget you, Brian," Minerva told him, holding his hands in both of hers. "And you will be with us here at Hogwarts."

Brian stood abruptly and stepped away, his socks slipping a little on the floor, realizing what she meant. "Mom! That means you'll remember _me_, but I won't remember _you_! At all…" He paused and turned away from them as tears sprang to his eyes. "Do I embarrass you because I'm not a good wizard? I'll study harder, I promise I will." His voice cracked when he tried to stifle a sob.

As one, Minerva and Albus rose and held him between them. Dumbledore lowered himself to one knee in front of Brian gently holding his hands while Minerva wrapped her left arm around the boy's shoulders.

"Son. Brian," said Albus. "Never think that your mother and I are ashamed of you because that could not be farther from the truth." He sighed. "Come, let's sit and we'll explain; you need to understand. Please?"

Reluctantly, Brian allowed himself to be steered back to the couch and seated next to Minerva; he even accepted her clean handkerchief when she clucked her tongue over his use of his pajama sleeves to wipe at his face. She held him close to her side while Albus brought another chair over, sitting so near that their legs touched.

"I'm sure by now that you have heard from your school-mates of a Dark Wizard who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort'?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes brightly sparkling over the rims of his spectacles. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees, looking intently into Brian's face the entire time he spoke.

"Yes, Dad, but what does he have to do with me?" The boy was definitely making an effort not to sound impatient, but his body language was clear. "I was in America and he wasn't."

Albus sighed again, nodding as his son's sharp mind started processing information. "Voldemort is the wizard who killed your friend Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter; Voldemort is the one who gave him that unique scar on his forehead. It is a magical mark."

"He tried to kill Harry as well?"

"Yes. It was your mother and I, and Hagrid, who brought him as a young infant to live with his Aunt and Uncle down in Surrey," said Albus, his tone full of regret. "We believe that if he regains his strength and his followers who call themselves 'Death Eaters' he would come after Harry again…and you too, if he knew of your true identity."

"Very few in the wizarding community even know that your father and I are married, Brian," Minerva added quietly. "Much less that we have a beautiful young one of our own." She gave his shoulders a squeeze as she placed a lingering kiss on his hair; he smelled of lavender and soothing chamomile, gentle soap scents she knew Madam Pomfrey liked to use for her young patients.

"It can be a very dangerous place, this magical world; there are more risks than you can imagine," Albus continued. "So we were lucky to find Juliette and Frank Rollins to raise you and protect you as much as possible. We brought you over to them when you were five months old."

"Twenty-two weeks," Minerva corrected automatically, smiling at a wink from her husband. She drew up a blanket to cover Brian when she felt him yawn and shiver slightly against her side. "You were just a wee little babbie the last time I saw you."

Brian was quiet for so long that they thought he had fallen asleep. "I'm not afraid if this guy Voldemort comes for me, and I certainly wouldn't want him to hurt either of you," he finally said in a very soft voice. He sat up and looked at each in turn. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, for anything you or Frank or Juliette had to give up because of me, I just wish I had a choice in the matter. Isn't it _our choices that make us who we are_, no matter where or to whom we are born?" His crystal blue eyes were bright with the tears he stubbornly held back.

Albus was pleased to hear that Brian actually listened and paid attention to his occasional speeches in the Great Hall, rambling though they sometimes became; it was almost a direct quote. Minerva chuckled, leaning down slightly to rest her chin on her son's head; she always found her son's Americanized expressions rather charming.

"That is often what our beloved school Headmaster tells us, yes," she commented with a touch of wry amusement.

The boy yawned again, shaking his head resignedly. "I don't like it, Dad; I don't like it at all," he said. "Mom, I'm sorry but I have to be honest with you. When I'm grown, I want to make my own choices, for better or worse. I don't like this not having a choice; it really sucks."

Any reply that Albus or Minerva might have given was interrupted by a soft knock at the door; a second later, Madam Pomfrey came in, carrying a small potion vial.

"Time for your elevenses, young man," she said, giving him a sympathetic smile when she saw how closely the three of them were sitting. "No, don't get up. Sit there with your Mum," Poppy told Brian, taking up her wand to run a diagnostic spell over him and nodding with satisfaction at the runic symbols that were floating there near his body.

She sighed, looking fondly at Minerva who had one arm around Brian. "I expect this will be the last dose. The fever is going down quickly as we…"

"I wish it wouldn't," said Brian in a grim tone. He noted that the Head nurse looked mildly surprised. "Yes ma'am; they told me."

He accepted the crystal vial from her, recognizing it as the Calming potion that would help him sleep; she'd already patiently explained to him that if he was ill like this for much longer, he could suffer more long-term consequences and magical damage (and none of them wanted that to happen).

"I'm sorry, Brian. I know you're not keen on the way things are going just now." Madam Pomfrey turned down his bedclothes, and refilled his water pitcher at the bedside. "Sweet dreams; I'll be in my office if I'm needed," she said gently.

Minerva gave her old schoolmate a smile of gratitude, thankful for the matron's friendship and support. "Thank you, Poppy."

Brian made a face when he drank the foul-tasting potion, sipped some cool water to wash the medicinal flavor of it out of his mouth, and then climbed into Albus' lap. He sat sideways, letting his long legs dangle, wrapping his arms around Dumbledore's neck, and laying his head against the elder wizard's beard and chest.

Albus held him close, sitting quietly so the young wizard could listen to the sound of his rhythmic heartbeat and feel his breathing as his chest rose and fell. For his part, Brian's father could now easily detect the strong and steady thrum of the boy's magical pulse. He understood what Minerva meant when she always said that to her, his magic "felt" beautiful, like a symphony.

"I'll forget all of this by morning, won't I?" Brian grumbled sleepily.

Albus rested his whiskered cheek on the tired boy's warm curly hair. "Most of it; I'm sorry son. We'll put our heads together to figure something out…something that is agreeable for all of us."

Brian nodded, and then turned slightly to look at Minerva, his eyelids growing heavy as the potion began to take effect. "Will you stay a little while? Please?"

She brushed his hair back from his face and kissed his forehead, feeling both happy and sad that his skin was cooler to her touch. "Of course, Angel. We'll be here so you can fall asleep."

The boy sighed, disappointed with the realization that he had more questions he wouldn't get to ask this particular night, and that he wouldn't be able to remember to ask them. "Love you…" he mumbled, and then he relaxed further on Albus' chest and drifted into a healing sleep.

-/-/-/-/-/-

McGonagall rose from her bench and stretched, not quite sure how long she'd been sitting there, caught up in her remembrances of the night before. She smiled, recalling the tenderness on her husband's face when he put a warm and comfortably sleeping Brian into his bed, tucking him in and not wanting to let go; Minerva had felt the same way. She recalled too, how Albus had trembled a little in her embrace, the two of them standing there in Brian's hospital room, frustrated between wanting to protect their son and wanting to have him fully in their lives _as_ their son.

"One of us needs to teach him how to use the ring," Albus had said as they quietly watched the sleeping boy and then he tenderly kissed her hand where she wore her claddagh gift from him. "The charms I placed on it could help, now that I think about it."

Minerva had agreed wholeheartedly and her thoughts turned slowly to an earlier time as she walked back toward the castle: it was June, 1959 and the students had all left the day before, heading off for their long summer holidays. Minerva was far more exhausted than usual at the end of the term, and she had never been so glad to see the conclusion of the annual Leaving Feast. Albus was needed down in London the very next day, to attend meetings of this and that at the Ministry of Magic, but had not wanted to leave her side; they'd been married only two years, and he willingly, lovingly doted on his beautiful green-eyed witch.

"Albus, dear heart, I'll be fine; you needn't worry. I'm sure it is just that I got a bit run down with trying to do too much in the N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. classes," she assured him in their private quarters on that particular morning. "We've been so busy with exams these past few weeks, both of us. I will see Poppy today for a once over and I promise to rest…there are end-of-term letters to send, but those can wait."

"I will be back tonight as soon as I am able, Minerva," he told her between farewell kisses in front of the fireplace. "Call Topher to wait on you, will you please? You needn't lift a finger." He had already donned his traveling cloak and was preparing to Floo directly to the Ministry.

She took his face in both of her hands and kissed him once more, full on the mouth, her tongue tangling his and tasting the lemon-candy-sweetness that she had come to love so much. Teasing, she nibbled at his lower lip before she stepped back from his arms, a smirk coming to her own lips at the way his eyes darkened in response.

"Mmm-Minerva, you know how I hate these meetings, I really do…" Albus breathed. She knew that he would cancel every meeting and appointment for the next week if she but asked.

"I promise to be as indolent as possible, all day, until I see you this evening and you can pamper me as much as you like, Professor Dumbledore," Minerva said, smiling sweetly and more than a little suggestively at him; she knew from past experience that sometimes all she needed to seduce him was her voice with its soft, Scottish, almost musical tones. Her gaze flicked briefly down the front of his robes then back up to meet his eyes again. "Try not to Splinch anything important today, hmm?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, chuckling. "_That_ I can always promise, my love!" He blew her a kiss, stepped into the fireplace and departed in a flash of green flame.

True to her word, she called on Madam Pomfrey at the school's hospital wing a little while later, who confirmed joyfully what McGonagall had hoped was the root cause of her uncharacteristic tiredness of late, and when Minerva returned to her rooms, she made by hand two endearingly tiny items to present to Albus that night…one pink and one blue. It had taken a couple of tries to get them just right, but the Transfiguration teacher was pleased that she remembered the knitting skill she had learned on her grandmother's knee.

She must have been smiling contentedly in her sleep when he got back to Hogwarts castle, well after sunset, for when she awoke, Minerva felt him softly caressing her face, brushing loose tendrils of hair back from her forehead. Still smiling, she sleepily moved closer to where he sat at the edge of their four-poster bed.

"Of whom could you possibly be dreaming, darling wife?" he asked, his eyes twinkling gaily at her. Albus had already removed his traveling cloak, boots and outer robes in the sitting room, now clad in white shirt and dark blue trousers. He was very glad to find her resting and rested; he'd been worried about her all day while he was away at the Ministry.

Minerva pulled him down beside her, whispering a charm that silently removed the rest of his clothes. "Only for a warm and naked wizard to take to my bed, and here he is. Imagine my surprise at such good fortune…" She rolled him onto his back, straddling his bare upper legs while his expressive hands stroked her hips and bottom through her nightgown.

"Dreams can be powerful magic indeed, dearest," the Hogwarts Headmaster continued in a soft voice. He shuddered involuntarily when she kissed his chest and moved his beard aside to kiss his bare throat, teasing, nibbling and tickling with her lips and tongue. "Not just any 'warm and naked wizard', I should hope."

"Oh no, not just _any_ willing wizard will do…_Albus_," she sighed his name as he reached for her and her own clothing was banished away with his non-verbal spell.

And that had been the last coherent thought from either of them for the next several hours as they kissed and caressed each other, making love with an unhurried intensity; it had indeed been a busy past few weeks, and they had not seen much of each other as the school year 1958-1959 ended. Wave upon wave upon wave of utter bliss crashed over them before they were finally willing to surrender to sleep.

Minerva woke with the sunrise, stifling a laugh when she realized that they had completely forgotten to eat dinner, but she loathed leaving the cozy, sleeping disarray of limbs and bed sheets that was her husband. He was awake when she returned from her trip to the bathroom, and he held up the duvet to welcome her back to his side, warming her bare skin where it had momentarily chilled in the morning air.

"Mmm, good morning, my dear one," he murmured into her ear as she snuggled closer. "And what did our Head matron recommend for you, other than plenty of rest?"

Minerva smiled instead of speaking, sitting up slightly to Summon a small box from the dressing table which she then handed to Albus. He accepted it with a somewhat puzzled grin, also sitting up to recline against the pillows beside her.

"Poppy prescribed plenty of rest, plenty of sensible exercise and good nutrition," she replied quietly although he detected an as yet unexplained happy tone. "I'm to start a new vitamin potion straight away, and to see her again in two weeks to see how we are doing."

Albus opened the box and removed the tiny pair of knitted baby booties; one pink and one blue, so tiny that they barely covered the broad palm of his hand. It took several heartbeats before he could get the words out clearly, but the adoration for her came through his gaze plainly enough. Minerva kissed away joyful tears from his face as he placed one hand tenderly on her still-flat belly.

"A baby, Minerva? We…" he whispered, still a bit bewildered and clearly in awe of what she had just told him. "Our son or our daughter?"

"Our baby; it's too early to tell yet," she told him, her emerald eyes glistening. "We will just have to wait to find out which next February."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Lunch that December Saturday was a quiet affair: a few of the faculty members had gone away for weekend visits to family and friends, and the students had all been given permission to take meals in their common rooms if they desired. Relaxed and in a much better mood from her walk that morning, Minerva joined Albus and the rest of her colleagues for the noon meal in the staff room, and she found herself soon pleasantly caught up in conversation with Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, and Rolanda Hooch…all of whom were busy planning a New Year's Eve party for Monday night.

"Decorate the Great Hall if you wish," Albus offered. "It has been a number of years now since the last dance was held to mark the New Year occasion."

Professor Sprout laughed out loud, delighted. "Oh, and here we were planning to cram ourselves into the Hufflepuff tower," she announced cheerfully. The mental image of this caused chuckles around the table.

"Thank you, Headmaster," added her husband. "We haven't had much opportunity for proper dance floors up there, or in Ravenclaw!" He was rewarded with a blush and a loving grin from Pomona: Filius Flitwick was not only a dueling Master, but an excellent dancer as well.

"Will it be a dress robes affair, Pomona?" Minerva asked, catching a conspiratorial smile and nod from Dumbledore, seated across from her at the large oblong table.

"Why not?" replied the resident Herbologist. "We should have it on the invitations as 'dress robes optional' I think. Some of my younger students don't have much other than their ordinary school robes or their Muggle-wear."

"A good idea," commented Hooch. "We might even serve champagne and sparkling juices this year; in nice stemware glasses, the bubbles all look the same."

"Music and dancing; it sounds wonderful!" said the Headmaster as he stood to leave the table. "I look forward to our festive gathering then. Good day, colleagues. Believe it or not, I have appointments stacking up today."

Flitwick gave a mock groan as Dumbledore left. "Not even a holidays' respite for the poor man, dear me." The tiny wizard shook his head sympathetically.

By the time their plates had been cleared, Minerva McGonagall had been roped in to help the other three with the party plans. She smiled to herself as she considered what sort of a golden opportunity had literally dropped into her lap.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"One of the most striking features of Mr. Palin's chart, Professor Dumbledore, is its balance," Trelawney said as she unrolled the large parchment on the table between them. She had arrived at exactly the appointed hour to the Headmaster's office, and they spent only a few moments chatting of inconsequential things before beginning work on the birth chart.

"Please, Sybill, you must call me Albus," he interjected, patting her hand. "We have been here at Hogwarts together for a long, long while now."

She smiled and nodded, her thick glasses not hiding the way her eyes shone at the handsome wizard. "Thank you, Albus." Sybill took a calming sip of her tea, and picked up her train of thought.

"Here we see the four elements of earth, air, fire and water almost completely balanced for the planets and Placidus house markers. And here, the three qualities of fixed, mutable and cardinal signs are not perfect, but very close in their counts."

Albus looked where she pointed, recognizing the astrological symbols for the Sun, Moon and planets, as well as the twelve signs of the zodiac that formed the complete circle of Brian's natal chart. He had not studied astrology for many, many years but ancient runes were still ancient runes, after all. Albus was more interested in her interpretations of the signs and aspects.

"Yes, well," she continued. "Where was I? The three main bodies of any natal chart are the Sun, Moon and Ascendant. For Mr. Palin, the Sun is in Pisces; the Moon in Aries; and, the Ascendant is in Cancer. An interesting combination of water and fire, I would say; not always compatible in and of itself but this great energy can be harnessed into productive outlets, rather like when one boils a kettle of water to produce steam. This would require much self-discipline on his part."

Dumbledore leaned closer to inspect the chart, hoping to keep Sybill on track with her interpretations; he would add his memories to the Pensieve as soon as she returned to her tower. "I see that the first and second houses are empty of planets and aspects; is that significant?"

"Indeed, as is the twelfth, the house of secrets and enemies. The first house is the house of the self; the second is the house of one's resources. I would read this as being more in the forthright service of others for this young man…hmm, soon to be forty-eight his next solar return. We will have a leap year again in 2008."

She paused, tracing several of her own hand-drawn lines on the parchment. "Yes, I thought so," she muttered to herself; Albus waited patiently. "He is quite close to his mother, very compatible magic and temperament, you could say. His Cancer ascendant is ruled by the Moon, and his Moon is in the sign of Aries. He has a great need, almost an obsession, for security and family…and is unusually sensitive to his environment and to the needs of others."

Trelawney paused again, taking a sip of tea. "In my opinion, it would be worthwhile to explore the natal charts of his parents for their synastry with their son's chart. Is this possible, Albus?"

He shook his head. "Not at the moment I'm afraid, but I may inquire about that later. Please continue?"

"The Moon in Aries would give him an incredibly explosive temper, but fortunately, he is not one to hold a grudge, and that which causes him anger blows over, forgotten quickly. I'd wager his mother has the same fieriness and fierce protectiveness in her nature; rather like a mother lion or a mother bear is aggressive and protective of her cubs."

Albus coughed into his own tea, but recovered with a little effort. "Really? Interesting." He kept his tone as noncommittal as he could; the bright twinkling of his eyes, however, he could not stop even if he'd wanted to. He was really looking forward to sharing the Pensieve memories with Minerva later that evening.

"It is. While the mother is represented by the Moon, the father is represented by the Sun; in this case the Sun sign is Pisces, and is also located at the apex of the chart. Mr. Palin may or may not have 'the Sight' as I do, but he is very much attuned to other living things in his environment…not psychic per se, but extremely sensitive at the subconscious level. He is able to communicate with other living things; probably in ways even he does not completely understand.

"However, he is at great odds with his father, and all that represents authority in his life. Notice that the Pisces Sun is conjunct with the mid-heaven, an important aspect for one's career and recognition, while Pluto in the sign of Virgo rests at the very nadir of the chart, ruling his fourth house, his family of origin. It's as if his true family and home-life is hidden from his view. He works constantly to uncover that which is hidden, most likely impeded by his father's desires to keep much hidden. The opposition here is a rather challenging aspect for this young man…probably rather exhausting too."

She reached for a chocolate biscuit, nibbling on it thoughtfully. "Pluto is one of the rulers of the sign of Scorpio, an often maligned and misunderstood part of the zodiac. Scorpio itself has no less than three symbols: the snake, the eagle and the phoenix, each representing the lows and highs to which we humans can reach. You mentioned that Mr. Palin is indeed a wizard; is he also an Animagus? He might be one who is capable of several transformations, though I've never heard of that before," said Sybill. "Powerful magic, indeed. When Pluto is symbolized by the phoenix, that could represent his frequent rising from the ashes of his exhaustion, as it were."

"I do not know," Albus replied truthfully, nodding as he considered the possibility. "Another of my future lines of inquiry, then." He sighed internally, though; glad that Fawkes was off soaring the castle grounds as he sometimes liked to do.

"We seem to be uncovering more questions than answers today, Albus. Yet another hard aspect for this young man is his Saturn in Capricorn opposing his Ascendant. Saturn represents the teacher or the taskmaster, and it is at its strongest influence in Capricorn; this is a mixed gift. He has had to learn his lessons under somewhat harsh conditions, but he is becoming both trustworthy and tenacious to an almost inhuman degree from all of his diligent efforts. Luckily it is not in his nature to hold a grudge, as I said before, provided the one who provokes him appreciates his hard-won battles. It may not be his father whom he 'battles', but a figure-head or some other authority."

"Like a Ministry of Magic figure-head? We've all tilted our windmills at some point in our lives, haven't we, Sybill? It's human nature to rebel."

"True. Which leads us to Jupiter and Uranus in this chart: he is honest and idealistic in his rebellion, more likely to follow than to lead, but his loyalty would be without question. If his father is a powerful wizard, perhaps a man in the Ministry of Magic or other governing body…this tenth house is very strong in Mr. Palin's chart…he would be wise to let his son show his strengths openly. They would be a formidable team if they could work together. Their cooperation would benefit many, not just their nuclear family unit."

They sat quietly for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Albus knew now without doubt, that his son needed to know who he was. Brian needed to know the truth about both of his parents if he was to reach his full potential; he had already told them, quite earnestly, that he wanted to make his own choices. Dumbledore wracked his brain, trying to find a way to do just that: to let Brian make his own choice.

The witch and the wizard had talked for nearly two hours, but Sybill had one more question as she went over her handwritten notes.

"Do you have a photograph of Mr. Palin? I realized when I saw his birth date that he was a Leapling, born on a leap day of a leap year, that there might be more to him than meets the eye," she said. "With so much in his signs and aspects pointing to the importance of his mother and his father…it's hard to explain why I kept seeing visions of a phoenix reborn while I was illuminating this chart. I confess that this is a puzzle that intrigues me."

TBC

A/N: Brian's birth chart was calculated at "chaosastrology" using 29 February 1960; 12:03 p.m.; Edinburgh, Scotland, U.K. Any mistakes or discrepancies in the interpretation are my own…I am neither an astrologer nor a mathematician. I modified the aspects and interpretations a teensy bit as needed to work with the story. His full birth name, in case you've been wondering: Brian Robert Albus McGonagall Dumbledore (and that's one heck of a monogram for his sweaters and handkerchiefs!).

Thank you so much for sticking with "Brian" and me in this little AU fan-fic (of course, ADMM and FFPS are completely irresistible, IMHO). Real-life is gonna get in the way far more than usual as the end of Fall term 2007 approaches…darnit.

I meant to add this in before, and I think I forgot: a claddagh ring has a heart held in two hands below a crown (for some reason my nice little pic won't show here). Brian's has an amethyst on the heart; Minerva's an emerald; and, Albus' an onyx. They are exchanged as traditional gifts for loved ones, and can even be worn as a wedding band.


	17. Chapter 17

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS; implied PP/AM.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: "Hogmanay" is a traditional celebration of New Year's Eve in Scotland. It is not widely known, but the Feast of Christmas was more or less banned for about 400 years there (from the end of the 17th century to the 1950s), when Protestant Reformers declared it too "Catholic" to be observed; Scots had to work over Christmas and the Winter Solstice, and so, New Year's became the time to gather with friends and family for a party and the exchange of gifts. There are quite a few Hogmanay customs still observed in Scotland today, but it's mostly a fun way to welcome the New Year.

-/-/-/-/-/-

_Chapter 17/??_

_"First Footing" on Hogmanay, December 2007_

"I had no idea it would be this wrenching, Poppy," said Minerva. "Honestly, I didn't. It's like we're reliving 1960 all over again, and that was hard enough the first time."

Poppy nodded, pouring some more tea for herself and offering a top-up for her hostess and closest friend. "I know, Min. Brian is the dearest child I think I've ever met, and I'm not saying that because I love his Mum and Dad too! I had to fall back on a lot of my training just to be able to treat him appropriately in my own hospital ward. Wouldn't do to have Fiona watching me fall apart, would it?"

"Well, Albus and I are certainly grateful that you are here, I can't tell you how much," replied McGonagall. She chuckled as she patted Poppy's hand. "And I'm not saying that because you are our favorite school Head Matron."

The two witches sat in companionable silence as they sipped the hot, sweet tea, each one caught up in her thoughts and memories. It was the last Sunday of the year, cold and dreary as the threatening clouds of the day before had upheld their promise of snow and wind. Professor Minerva McGonagall and Head Matron Poppy Pomfrey met for brunch that morning in McGonagall's office; part of the spacious room had a sitting area away from the books and parchments of schoolwork. It had been weeks at least since the friends and old schoolmates had been able to just sit and enjoy a precious few moments of quiet.

Poppy roused herself from staring into the fireplace. "How are you doing since Brian got out of hospital? I'd like to think that he's at least sleeping and eating better now."

Minerva smiled. "I'm tired to be honest, but getting back up to speed…glad it's the holidays too. Albus shared with me his recollections of the appointment with Sybill yesterday afternoon; quite interesting, actually."

"You mean Brian's birth chart that she was to calculate?"

"Yes. It is all very reasonable: Brian and his magic are exceedingly compatible with me and my magic; at odds, more or less, with his father's; and, we must figure out a way to tell him who he really is. Once I saw the calculated aspects, I have to admit some things made perfect sense. At least it wasn't the astrologer from the 'Daily Prophet'."

Poppy smiled in reply, not commenting on the fact that Divination had never been her colleague's favorite subject. "I'm glad, Minerva, really I am. So you must tell him who he is and who you both are, of course?"

"Albus suggested we plan it for Brian's birthday in February," said McGonagall, and then her smile brightened even further. "And for safety, have him live here at Hogwarts with us for the summers as well; I imagine his friend the giant squid would approve. It might take some arranging to get Frank and Juliette Rollins to come at the end of February, but it would be the best for all of the lad's parents to be involved in the process."

"Wouldn't that be something? To have him here at school year-round with you, I mean," Poppy commented. She laughed. "We could take long walks on the grounds, like old times…oh!" The school matron got a thoughtful look just then.

"Poppy? Are you alright?" Minerva thought she might have burned herself on the thin-walled teacup or even on the kettle.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, carefully placing her cup and saucer on the low table between them. "I'm fine; I just thought of something!" She clasped her hands together, turning to look Minerva in the eye.

"That dream journal of Brian's, remember? He showed me more of it when he was in hospital, but my saying 'long walks' struck me just now," Poppy began, her lips quirking in a tiny smile of remembrance. "When I came to Edinburgh back in '60, shortly after he was born, you know, to visit and help you around the flat…"

"Long walks with Brian in his pram!" Minerva exclaimed softly as if a _Lumos_ spell had been cast in her head. "Of course, we must have walked all over town and you took him out more than I did."

"And your landlady thought I was 'freezing the poor wee babbie' every time we went outside," Poppy said, sounding amused. "What was her name? She and her husband were so sweet, apart from that little issue."

Minerva chuckled, reaching for a ginger newt. "Bette MacPherson, and her husband was Gerry. Yes, they were a sweet couple; I honestly thought they were not Muggles for a time, but it turned out they were. He, Gerry, was a tailor and saved a clan MacPherson kilt pin for me to give to Brian; I'll have to look for it before his birthday."

Poppy took another sip of her tea, shifting in her seat to cross her legs more comfortably. "His drawings are incredible, Min. And if I recall correctly from the sketches he showed me, Brian remembers a fairly large part of our walks—the Royal Mile from Edinburgh Castle to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, especially."

"You should also look for the statues of William Wallace and Robert the Bruce," Minerva said, not quite jokingly. "You were more into the Scottish heroes than I was, lady."

"And Greyfriar's Bobby, don't forget that one," was the reply. "I think Brian's first recognizable word was 'woof'; he always liked that statue, didn't he? I would have never thought such a young baby could see or say as much as he."

They shook their heads, smiling and fondly remembering their wanderings with baby Brian Robert bundled warmly in his carriage. The combination of long walks (including up and down the Salisbury Crags and Arthur's Seat) and breast-feeding an infant had helped the new mother get back her pre-pregnancy figure rather quickly. A knock at the outer door interrupted their reveries, and Poppy raised her eyebrows in a questioning glance.

Minerva had to shrug, but unlocked the door with a flick of her wand. "Come in, please. It's open."

Poppy winked at her friend, teasing when she saw that it was Brian Rollins coming into Professor McGonagall's office. He closed the heavy door behind him and came over to where the pair of witches was seated.

"Good morning, Professor," he greeted. "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey."  
When he didn't continue, Minerva gently prompted him.

"How may I help you, Brian? Is everything alright?"

His cheeks flushed pink as he shifted the zippered garment bag he was carrying. "Oh, everything's fine. I'm sorry to interrupt your day off, Professor McGonagall. I can come back later…"

"Nonsense," she replied. "Come and sit for tea, if you like. You know you can ask anything. I am your Head of House, after all, Mr. Rollins." McGonagall gestured toward the extra armchair, closest to the fireplace.

Brian smiled shyly and did join them in the sitting area. Pomfrey offered him a cup of the tea.

"None for me, thank you," he said. "I just came to ask about the New Year's Eve party tomorrow night; we got our invitations in the common room this morning."

"How are you feeling?" asked the Head Nurse. "Well enough to dance a little?"

This elicited a big grin from the young wizard, and Poppy was strongly reminded of the boy's father. Albus had the same smile, particularly when he was pleased or anticipating something. She cast a sidelong glance at Minerva, knowing she had seen it too.

"Definitely! I haven't been to a ballroom dance in a long time," he told her. "I miss it to tell you the truth."

"Are you a dancer?" Minerva couldn't resist asking, even though she knew the answer. She wanted to see Poppy's reaction.

Brian shrugged modestly. "I've had lessons, four years' worth actually."

"You don't say! Will you save a waltz for your favorite nurse?"

He bobbed his head, blushing again. "Sure, of course I will." Brian paused, opening the garment bag. "The reason I came by though, is to make sure I'm wearing this properly; it's a little different than the dance clothes I was used to back home. I mean, I'd normally ask Hermione since she knows about all kinds of things, but she won't be back until next weekend. And the guys, well, I couldn't ask them…"

He pulled out the dress robes, an elegant dark blue-black silk of a conservative cut; the long outer robe came to mid-calf, and the whole outfit was complemented by a white wing-tip formal shirt, black trousers with a black satin stripe along the outside seam, black suspenders and black shoes. While he was carefully unpacking each item, Brian missed the look that passed between the two witches; it was one of very fond tenderness on both their parts.

"Anyway, I sure don't want to look like the American goof-ball kid who invaded Hogwarts, Professor," he said with a rueful smile.

Minerva stood, rubbing her hands together. "I quite understand, Brian. Madam Pomfrey is an expert at formal wear, in case you didn't know," she said with enthusiasm. "You can change in there and we'll see if we can't get you fitted in time for the ball tomorrow night." Poppy immediately agreed and chuckled softly as Brian headed toward the small restroom with his dress robes, shirt and trousers; he left the shoes on the floor by his chair.

When he came back out, dressed in his new robes for the New Year's Eve ball, McGonagall's breath caught in her throat; it was Poppy who was able to speak first.

"Oh, I think they are already tailored perfectly for you, Brian," she told him, clapping him gently on the shoulders. "Truly, I do." She adjusted the fastening snaps of the outer robe so they would drape nicely over the white shirt and its tiny tab collar-points.

He leaned down to slip his feet into the shiny black shoes, the laces already done up. "Good," he heaved a sigh of relief and then he stood up straight, turning to his Head of House for her appraisal. "Ma'am?"

Minerva barely trusted herself to speak at that particular moment, seeing her son in the Christmas gift robes, but she somehow managed to regain her composure, not wanting to embarrass the boy…especially since he couldn't remember their conversation from his hospital room not long before. "Yes, very nice. Do they fit properly for dancing, though, that is the question?"

Brian grinned, looking around for a music box or radio or something in McGonagall's office; he recalled that she had charmed a music box when he was serving his classroom detention. The Transfiguration Mistress noticed what he was looking for and smiled at him as she drew her wand from an inside pocket of her robes.

"Do you have a particular waltz that you like?" she asked.

"Haydn, Schubert, Strauss junior," he said, nodding. "They're all good ones, Professor."

Minerva flicked her wand at the music box on her mantle, and it began to play "The Blue Danube" for them. Brian held out his right hand to Madam Pomfrey and she noticed a ring on his finger she hadn't seen before, at least not when he'd been a recent patient on her sickbay ward.

"May I have this dance, ma'am?"

The school Head matron giggled in spite of herself, playing along. "I would be delighted sir."

From the moment that the young Gryffindor wizard gripped her hand and gently held her waist, she could tell he was an excellent dancer. Looking up slightly at her, Brian waited until the next measure of music began before he led her off, waltzing around the sitting room.

Poppy danced with Brian for several minutes, thoroughly enjoying the way he expertly guided her. Before Alastor Moody had lost his leg to a severe injury while on a mission for the Ministry of Magic, she and he had often gone to dances in both London and Edinburgh. They enjoyed long nights (and days) together when they could; finding pleasure in each other's company in a number of ways.

Feeling a bit winded, and flushed from her recollections of the gruff Auror she once (and still) loved, Poppy gracefully stepped away as they passed Minerva.

"Your turn, Madame Professor!" she said, giving a little laugh when Brian smoothly spun her out and changed dance partners in the middle of the piece.

Rollins, smiling slightly, adjusted his posture to accommodate the taller witch, leading her into the slower, gliding steps of the waltz. For her part, Minerva felt the pleasant tingle from her son's magic, coming to her from his bare hand. She recognized his feelings of happiness not just from the look on his face, but also from the charmed claddagh rings they both wore.

The music came to a satisfying pause, and Brian sketched a courtly bow to both of them. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'm glad I hadn't forgotten my dance lessons."

Madam Pomfrey leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "The ladies won't know what hit them tomorrow night," she told him with a wink. "I predict that your dance card will be rather full." In her mind, she imagined him in about ten years' time: older, taller, and even more devastatingly handsome.

"Yes, indeed," added Professor McGonagall, smiling at the young Gryffindor. "I'll ask Professor Flitwick to make sure we have plenty of waltzes on his musical program for the night…just to make sure."

Brian grinned as he gathered up his other clothes and the garment bag, intending to wear the dress robes back up to his dormitory. "And I'd better take a cat-nap before the party, hm? Thank you for helping me figure these robes out, although I probably will skip the hat for this occasion." He shrugged, indicating the matching wizard's hat in the front pocket of the zipper bag.

"Some gentlemen do, depending on the setting," said Minerva. "Our Headmaster seems to have more hats than should be allowed." She quirked a smile and shook her head to include him in the joke.

After her son had left, with a promise from him that he would work on his Animagus essays a little that afternoon, Minerva couldn't help the tears which gathered in her eyes. Poppy pulled her into a gentle hug and tried to coax a smile.

"Oh dear, hush hush. It's only sixty-one days until Brian's birthday…it won't be long now," Poppy whispered, tears shimmering in her own eyes.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Judging from the open-mouthed reactions of some of the older students that Monday night, Brian guessed that the Great Hall had never been decorated so spectacularly for New Year's Eve, or any other celebration for that matter. A solid partition divided the room in half, but the enchanted ceiling still sparkled like a beautiful clear night sky. One of the hosts, probably Professor Flitwick, had charmed it to also project the Northern Lights.

The décor gave the impression of an ice crystal palace, all the way to the Everlasting icicles which hung from every window sill. Holly and mistletoe, left over from the Christmas Feast, draped on each of the dozen or two round candlelit tables which surrounded a large dance floor. Off to one side, well out of the way of the dancing, were long tables laden with snacks of finger sandwiches, crackers and cheese, and the like. A self-stirring punchbowl dominated the second table of refreshments; it was surrounded by tall fluted glasses intended to hold the golden bubbly (non-alcoholic since the four hosts had agreed that it was too much trouble to chaperone both dancers and drinkers. However, it LOOKED just like champagne so none would be the wiser). Butterbeers and assorted fruit juices rounded out the beverage selections.

Filius Flitwick accepted a quick kiss from his wife before heading up to the stage to welcome the students for whom curiosity had gotten the better end of the stick: the holiday break residents had been buzzing about the New Year's Eve ballroom dance ever since the invitations had gone out. It had been at least a decade, probably longer, since the last such event.

"Good evening, everyone," he called out, his voice squeaking even when projected by the light _Sonorus_ spell he cast. "Thank you for joining us as we ring in the New Year of 2008 here at Hogwarts. Professors Sprout, Hooch, McGonagall, and I wish to welcome you to our celebration of dance and music." He spread his arms out wide, indicating the three witches who stood just to his left. Minerva and Rolanda smiled and nodded; Pomona Sprout blushed first, but also smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. She giggled when several students from Hufflepuff shouted "hurrah!" when her name was called out. McGonagall rolled her eyes slightly when a few of her students started chanting "Go, go, Gryffindor!" in reply; Rolanda Hooch stifled a chuckle, half-expecting to hear from the Ravenclaw contingent.

The entire faculty was dressed in their finest robes, silver, and gold, yellow, blue and scarlet being the most common colors; and, a handful of the students were also wearing dress robes, including Brian Rollins. The rest of the students were about evenly divided between wearing their fairly dressy Muggle attire or comfortable blue jeans and sweaters; but it didn't seem to matter since the point of the evening was to have a good time ringing in the New Year.

"Please join me in thanking Headmaster Dumbledore for allowing us to decorate and plan this event," Filius continued as Albus stepped forward slightly, a twinkle in his eyes as he acknowledged the students' cheering with a slight nod of his head. Flitwick cleared his throat, and gestured toward something over to his right (rather than take up space for a full orchestra, he had programmed a very hefty looking music box) and the first piece began to play.

Filius and his wife were the first couple on the dance floor, followed soon after by the Headmaster and his Deputy; Professor Hooch caught Brian's attention and asked him to escort her through the waltz as she had come that evening without a partner. The first-year blushed at the unexpected attention but had no trouble easing into the steps. Around them, students slowly began to join in and a good time was had by all.

By the time midnight approached, Brian was sure that he'd danced with all of the witches (young and old) in attendance, and some of them more than once. As the tolling of the bell in Hogwarts' tower began, he was in the middle of a fairly quick-stepping foxtrot with none other than Minerva McGonagall. The music stopped abruptly and Flitwick twitched his hand toward a rather large mirrored ball that suspended magically from the enchanted ceiling above their heads; slowly, slowly it began its descent, the tiny mirrors sparkling in the candlelight of the ballroom.

"It is customary, as you all know, ladies and gentlemen," he announced excitedly, his voice amplified over the gonging second note from the bell tower. "To count down for the dropping of the New Year's ball!"

"Ten!" someone shouted, and other students enthusiastically joined in:

"Nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one!"

"Happy New Year!" The Great Hall echoed with cheering and applause as faculty and students alike welcomed 2008. Hugs and handshakes between friends and classmates were exchanged, and more than a few good-natured teasing kisses were shared as well (however, Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater were far above teasing in this case; he made sure that his brothers were nowhere in sight at that particular moment).

Another voice (no one was sure if it was a student or a faculty member) began to softly sing a traditional Robert Burns poem, and others quieted to join in:

_"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,_

_And never brought to mind?_

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot,_

_And auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my dear,_

_For auld lang syne,_

_We'll take a cup of kindness yet,_

_For auld lang syne!_

As they sang, standing side by side, Brian realized that he was still holding Professor McGonagall's hand where they had stopped dancing. When he looked up at her though, he thought it was a trick of the lighting that he saw tears glistening in her eyes. Rather than feeling embarrassed, he smiled and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go.

"Happy New Year, Professor," he said, reaching into a pocket of his robes and fumbling around for a few seconds.

Minerva blinked rapidly several times before returning his smile. She fervently hoped her voice wouldn't shake when she spoke just then. "And Happy New Year to you as well, young man." Just over the young wizard's shoulder, she could see Dumbledore walking toward them across the dance floor, a rather tender look on his face.

She nearly wept with joy and surprise when Brian held out several small items to her in the palm of his outstretched hand…four traditional Scottish Hogmanay gifts: a tiny bottle of firewhisky; an even tinier bag of salt; a chunk of shortbread; and, a little lump of black coal.

"These are for you, ma'am," Brian continued, a familiar impish twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "It'll be good luck if your first visitor in the New Year is a dark-haired man won't it?"

For a brief moment, as the New Year rang in, Minerva McGonagall had a glimpse of both her husband and her son standing before her in their handsome dress robes, and she thanked whatever deities above had made such a thing possible.

TBC

A/N: I truly hadn't intended for this story to approach "real time" but it worked out that way; thank you for reading, and Happy New Year!


	18. Chapter 18

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I may use interesting bits from years 2-7 from time to time so some of the concepts may seem out of order from canon.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Rating: K to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

_Chapter 18/??_

_The Magical World According to Gamp_

Hermione Granger returned to school the Sunday before the term started, and found the first-year trio working at the big table in the Gryffindor common room; more precisely, Brian was working on his essays for Professor McGonagall, while Ron and Harry were engrossed in yet another game of wizard's chess. Of the feline tower residents, however, Brian's kitten Zoë had gotten bored with the chess pieces and fallen asleep in the pullover hood of her human's favorite Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. Crookshanks snoozed loudly in a chair, and barely budged when Hermione lifted the enormous ginger cat and sat with him in her lap.

"So, no luck with Nicolas Flamel?" she asked, her disappointment clearly evident when Ron just shrugged. She looked to Harry over the top of her ominously full book bag.

"Not a scrap, sorry," he said, sounding distracted when his second bishop got pounded to smithereens on the board. The youngest Weasley boy had been teaching his roommate to play chess over the vacation, and Harry had actually improved a great deal in a short period of time; Ron was a good tutor and Potter was a quick study. That and it was rather fun.

"Well, don't sound all that bothered by it, why don't you?" replied Hermione, sounding quite bothered herself. "Have you even been looking? You know the library was open over the break. I'm sure Madam Pince kept fairly regular hours."

Brian couldn't hold back a snicker, and amiably accepted a punch on the shoulder from Ron. "What? It is open, and I found some lovely books. See, these are lovely, aren't they?" Rollins sat back to read over his essay on Gamp's Law once more, looking satisfied with the end result. He rolled it up carefully to save for his tutorial with Professor McGonagall later that week, and pulled out another parchment essay, sliding a book from the stack of them at his elbow.

Hermione didn't drop the subject like the chess players had hoped, asking Harry and Ron further questions about what they actually had found or accomplished over the holiday. Despite her curiosity about the Invisibility cloak and the Mirror of Erised, she was rather horrified about Harry being out after curfew on several nights in a row, invisible or not.

"Oh, come on! What if Filch had caught you out?" She noticed immediately when the three boys started exchanging guilty looks with one another. "You all were messing about and got caught? You've got to be kidding. Detention as well?"

Ron shook his head, his ears rapidly turning pink, and Harry looked even guiltier if that was possible. "Ron and I didn't, but…" he stammered.

"I did," Brian said quietly. He knew by the look on her face that Hermione was suffering a pique of curiosity, but didn't want to overstep the bounds of their friendship.

Brian sighed, and gave a little rueful smile. "Filch caught me and dragged me in to see Professor McGonagall…she was on duty that night; so I got points off and four hours of detention the next day in the transfig classroom. It wasn't bad, really, all things considered." He shrugged and winked at Harry and Ron, letting them know that all was still well.

Hermione was about to protest or comment, but it was Ron who interrupted this time. "And then he was in hospital for most of the weekend after his detention, so how about a little slack for a guy, right?" Ron didn't think the two events were related, but it had been a stressful few days, especially when Professor McGonagall and the school Head Nurse had told him and Harry to watch out for symptoms.

She blushed slightly since she had been about to ask her fellow Gryffindor about house-points off. "The hospital wing? What happened?" her tone had softened considerably. "Are you okay, Bri?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine," he answered, chuckling. "Madam Pomfrey called it a 'magical asynchronicity' or something like that. I don't remember much to be honest, from that Friday morning the twenty-eighth until I got out just before New Year's." Brian shrugged. "I'm on this vitamin potion, and I check in with her every week until she's satisfied, I guess. No big deal." He decided that he didn't need to mention that the vitamin potion turned his urine an interesting shade of blue, although this side-effect was lessening as his body adapted to it. He thought his hair was growing faster than usual but he chalked that up to being too busy to worry about it.

"He was well enough to dance with every woman in the hall though," Harry teased, hoping to change the subject. "We had a big New Year's Eve party…you shoulda seen it. Brilliant." Growing up as he had with the Dursleys, Potter had been mightily impressed by the spectacle. And the fact that one of his good friends had been the star of the ball, so to speak, made it even more impressive.

Hermione just looked at him in amazement. "Really?"

"Yeah! Posh ballroom, and everything," Ron chimed in with a big grin on his face. "Got new dress robes from his Mom for Christmas and he made us guys all look like tatty second-hand rags, he did." He laughed, pleased when the rest did too.

Brian just shrugged modestly; nodding in answer to Hermione's raised eyebrows. He stood from the table and held out a hand to Weasley.

"I'll teach you to tango, my darling," he whispered, deepening his voice and pretending to kiss the back of Ron's hand. "Let me sweep you off your feet, my delicate little flower…" As he and Ron danced around the common room table, Harry nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Hermione grinned, shaking her head at them.

"I'm not even going to ask about the essay for Potions that's due on Friday…" she said with a giggle. Hermione unpacked her book bag next to Zoë, who regarded her somewhat sleepily before returning to her nap.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Brian watched, fascinated, as Professor McGonagall unrolled the first of his essay parchments on top of her desk, and with a few taps of her wand (he didn't quite catch the spell she murmured), made an identical copy of his assignment on a fresh piece of paper. The copy even showed his untidy but improving handwriting and a few residual smudges, glowing first yellow as it flickered faintly and then settled into permanence.

Minerva looked up, handing back the original, and saw the undisguised interest on the boy's face. "A duplicating spell," she said by way of brief explanation. "_Geminio_; very handy for marking papers or writing letters to more than one person." She would describe some of the other uses of the spell later as they went along in their tutorial sessions.

Brian grinned. "My dad would have liked to have that one when we still lived in Orono, at the University, I mean."

"How so?" Minerva still marveled that Frank Rollins had apparently not used magic for so long; at least, not in front of his foster children. She wondered too, if Juliette Rollins had also totally foregone magic during the time Brian lived with them.

"Sometimes he would take me with him to the campus library when he was doing research, and one of his grad students wasn't available to make copies," he began. "Muggles…" Brian uttered the word like he was still getting used to the way it sounded; he shrugged one shoulder.

"…have a machine to make duplicates of papers; a copier or some call it a 'Xerox machine'. You can even photocopy your hand, your face, or…" he paused, blushing. "Well, I helped him sometimes to copy articles out of books and journals. Things like that." He wasn't about to tell his Head of House that he had once photocopied his naked backside on a dare from his brother, Archie.

McGonagall saw his blush and momentarily wondered about it. "Let me read for just a bit and then we'll discuss your Gamp's Law essay first."

Brian sat up straighter and he pulled out a quill in case he needed to make notes later. "Oh, yes ma'am."

For the next few minutes, while Minerva read on one side of her large desk, Brian sat across from her and occupied himself by looking at the bookshelf nearby. It felt comfortably familiar to be in his professor's office, especially since he wasn't being hauled in for some infraction of school rules this time. Their first tutorial had been scheduled for the Thursday evening of the first week of the term (and would continue every week unless something else required their attention), and he had been looking forward to it since late December.

Brian didn't understand why the idea of Animagus research made him so happy, but it also motivated him to do well in his other classes. Professor McGonagall had made it clear that these tutorials were specialized and advanced magic, and that he would not be allowed to neglect his other studies because of it. His two lowest course averages, still "acceptable", were Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts; everything else carried grades of "exceeds expectations" or "outstanding" (especially Astronomy and Herbology).

"Mr. Rollins?"

Brian looked quickly back to the desk; he'd been reading book titles and trying to figure out what some of the more esoteric ones actually meant, remembering one or two of them from his chess match with Headmaster Dumbledore several months prior. "Ma'am?"

"You've outlined here the five principal exceptions to Gamp's Law adequately," Minerva began, watching him over the rims of her rather square-shaped reading glasses. "Food, love, money, information, and life. We'll begin at the top; why do you suppose food is on this list?"

"I've read that the food must already be in my possession, and I can increase the amount of it," Brian replied simply. "Or I can Summon it from elsewhere…like the meals which arrive from the kitchens to the Great Hall."

"Good. Continue."

"But, food really isn't that hard to find, Professor. I mean, back home unless the snow is really deep, I can find plants, roots and berries which are edible…things like that; I don't necessarily need to cook anything to acquire a meal," he said. "During spring and summer, it's really easy."

"True enough, although yours might be a special case given that your mother was an avid gardener, correct? Not many of your classmates would have such skills." McGonagall waited for his nod. "How might the amount of food one possesses be increased? What would be an applicable spell do you think?"

Brian grinned, thinking immediately of desserts. "_Engorgio_ would make bigger bowls of ice cream and larger pieces of cake; the Enlarging charm."

Minerva smiled slightly; that was an "Albus-answer" if she ever heard one. "Indeed. Can you think of any others?" Brian shook his head and gave a tiny shrug. "We'll come back to it in a moment then. How about love…why is this an exception to Gamp's Law?"

"Love can't be conjured or forced since it is a human emotion," Brian said. "But human _behavior_ can be influenced, or at least changed somewhat by magical means, I think."

Minerva nodded. "Such as?"

His brow furrowed a bit, the boy replied: "Potions exist that can alter a person's behavior…such as _Veritaserum_, particularly if that person were not inclined to tell the truth, for example. And I suppose there are spells to alter behavior as well; Professor Quirrell once mentioned the three Unforgivable Curses, but only briefly," Brian rushed to add, noticing a frown on the stern witch's face. "He didn't tell us the incantations, Professor."

"But you have since looked them up, haven't you Mr. Rollins?"

"Yes ma'am, I did," he admitted. Brian chewed on the inside of his lip, feeling a tad guilty at that moment.

McGonagall softened her gaze a little. "And I think it was wise that you did," she told him quietly. "To cast them properly, one must have the incantation, the intent and the power to use such a thing. Fear of a name only increases fear without reason, do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor, I think so," Brian replied, his eyes never leaving her face.

"List them for me, if you please."

"The Imperius curse would influence someone's behavior, bringing them under the spell-caster's control," he said, a look coming to his eyes as if he finally understood something else he'd studied. "The Cruciatus curse could be used to gain information through torture…information cannot be conjured by magical means. And the Killing curse would bring about death."

"Well done. And how does this relate to Gamp's Law and its principal exceptions?"

Brian paused, thoughtful. "Love, information and life cannot be conjured by magical methods. The last is money. Couldn't a witch or wizard simply make their own?"

McGonagall nodded affirmatively, her emerald green eyes twinkling with pride for her son. "They could, and indeed some have made counterfeit Galleons, Sickles and Knuts…but at some point, they are eventually caught out. The Goblins of Gringott's Bank do not look with favor upon such activities, though."

"May I ask a question, Professor?"

"Certainly," she said, smoothing out her copy of his essay where it had rolled up slightly.

"Food cannot be conjured, but water can," he began. "By the _Aquamenti_ incantation, right?"

Minerva smiled, and pursed her lips slightly to stifle a soft chuckle. "It's _Aguamenti_, with a 'g', Mr. Rollins."

Brian looked embarrassed, and covered his forehead briefly with one hand. "Oh man! No wonder I make such a mess in the greenhouses; we, er that is, Neville and I, have tried that one to help Professor Sprout with the watering and other chores."

"It is a messy job, from what she is always telling me," she said kindly. "How else might you water the plants then?"

He actually laughed, sounding a bit sheepish. "I've tried Levitating one of the buckets, but I usually end up carrying it around non-magically…which is what I'm used to, of course. My aim isn't very good with heavier objects, but I have been practicing, especially if Professor Flitwick comes to help too. He's been very patient about it after that time I soaked us all." Brian shrugged, blushing even more when McGonagall laughed with him.

Minerva checked the small grandfather's clock on the fireplace mantle; it was a few minutes after eight. "Just a bit more this evening, I should think. Would you care for a hot chocolate or tea, Brian?"

"Oh, whatever you're having, ma'am. Thank you."

The Transfiguration Mistress nodded and called for her house-elf, who appeared immediately at her side. After requesting chamomile tea for two, she noticed Brian's wide-eyed look of frank curiosity about the tiny, long-eared being that had just Disapparated away.

"I forget that you have never seen a house-elf, have you?"

"No, Professor, I have not. House-elf?"

"They are magical in their own right, but they usually serve Wizarding families," she said. "We have nearly one hundred here at Hogwarts. I'll introduce you…" Minerva paused momentarily when the elf returned, a fully laden tea tray Levitating at his side.

"Topher?"

The tiny house-elf turned politely to her, the tea tray settling itself on the sideboard near her desk, and his long gray ears pricking forward. "Yes, Professor. May I be of further service?" His gleaming white tea-towel "tunic" was in stark contrast to the bluish-gray skin tone of his rather skinny arms.

"The tea and biscuits are sufficient, thank you. I'd like to introduce one of our first-year Gryffindor students; Mr. Brian Rollins comes to Hogwarts School from America. Brian, this is Topher."

Topher bowed low, the tips of his ears nearly scraping the hardwood floor; Minerva thought she saw a smile on his face, but she couldn't be sure. "I am pleased to meet you, young Mister Rollins from America. Do call upon me at any time, and I will assist you to the best of my abilities." Inwardly, she grew warm with affection for the tiny elf; he'd been with Albus for many years, and had checked in on her from time to time (at her husband's behest) in Edinburgh, just after Brian was born.

The young wizard wasn't sure how to respond to such a gracious offer, or when he would ever have need to call upon a house-elf, but he nodded gravely. "Thank you, Topher. I appreciate that very much." Instinctively, he knew not to address the elf as "sir" like he usually did with anyone else, and Brian could not have explained later what prompted this rudimentary understanding of house-elf culture.

Topher bowed again to Professor McGonagall before Disapparating with a scarcely audible pop.

As they sat and drank their hot tea, Minerva was more than a little surprised that Brian took it without sweetener or milk given the enormous "sweet-tooth" habit she knew his father to possess. She cast the Duplicating spell on his other essay…the one describing ten Animagus forms, each with their advantages and disadvantages listed; and then she noticed his preoccupied look while he nibbled on a ginger newt, holding it in his hand and studying it.

"Professor? Can the _Geminio_ spell be used to duplicate food?"

Minerva tilted her head toward his side of the desktop, and set aside her reading for the moment. "Why don't you try it and see?"

Rollins took his wand from his jeans pocket and sat up straighter, the ginger newt now resting on the edge of the desk. He looked over at her questioningly.

"One, two, three…_Geminio_," she prompted.

He cleared his throat, and readied his wand. "One, two, three, _Geminio_." Brian blinked with pleased surprise as a perfect copy of the cookie appeared, even with the same bite-mark where he had already eaten from the original. Smiling, he immediately repeated the wand movement and incantation, and looked at the three ginger newts that sat on the desk, all with the same bite-mark on the end.

McGonagall knew that was coming. "Do they taste the same though, that is the question."

"Oh, right. Good idea," he replied at once. Brian tasted the first two, then grimaced after the third one. "Ugh, not good. Did I do something wrong, Professor?"

Minerva was making a valiant effort to keep a straight face just then. "Not at all. A copy of a copy dilutes the substance of the original; often quite a bit I've found." Brian raised one eyebrow speculatively, and then covered the somewhat offensive third ginger newt with his napkin.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin. "I'll remember that."

She passed the original of the second essay back across to him. "I have to admire the illustrations you've added here, Brian, for your ten Animagus forms. I didn't expect that but find it to be a nicely added touch."

"Thank you, Professor."

"I also notice that you have discussed only land or water animal forms," Minerva commented. "None of them are capable of flight."

Brian heaved a sigh. "To be perfectly honest, ma'am, I'm afraid of heights. And given my rotten broomstick abilities, I didn't think I should transform into anything that flies around," he said. "I've had enough crashes into the lake as it is, but at least I can swim back to shore when that happens." He shrugged, shaking his head at himself.

"Ah, yes, quite reasonable," replied the Transfiguration Mistress, her tone gentle and full of understanding; she knew that Brian, Neville and Hermione were by far the worst broomstick fliers of her first-year Gryffindor lions. "I'm very claustrophobic myself, to let you in on a wee secret. Those things need not limit you though, while in your animal-form; your natural Animagus might be an owl or an eagle, for example. We won't know for some time, I shouldn't think."

"Dog and cat, of course," she continued, reading aloud from the top of his list. "Quite easy to blend in with either wizarding folk or Muggles and be unobtrusive. Kneazle and niffler, not as easy to blend in since they are obviously not common animals for Muggles, but I would say that Hagrid would be pleased with these two choices."

Brian laughed. "He would?"

"Our gamekeeper raises them," said McGonagall, adding dryly: "And they are among his less dangerous pet preferences." She laughed at the amused glint in the young wizard's eyes.

"Dolphin, shark, seal and otter…all good swimmers and as I would expect from you, young man. Finishing with a badger and what is that, a lizard of some kind?"

"Australian frilled lizard; they are really interesting little guys…fast runners and pretty fair climbers," he explained, using both hands to frame his face. "I used to watch a lot of nature programs. My folks thought they were educational enough."

Minerva quirked an eyebrow at that. "Very well done, Brian, and all fairly reasonable choices." She rolled up her copies of his essays and set them aside. "Now, for next Thursday, I would like for you to begin reading about the arts of both Occlumency and Legilimency; Madam Pince can help you find sources appropriate for your year, including the Tricky Transformation text which you already have from my classroom references."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, jotting a quick note. "She helped me a lot over the holiday break."

"You have already worked with our school librarian?"

"Oh, sure. She's nice; some of the other students don't think so, er…but I don't see what their problem is," he added, blushing a little. "She's strict but not scary or anything."

Minerva favored him with a small wink. "Remember what you are used to, Mr. Rollins. Didn't you say you spent a lot of time in libraries when you were growing up?" Brian shrugged, smiling slightly.

"I will caution you though, to not try any of the exercises until we meet for our next tutorial," she said, her tone becoming more serious. "Occlumency, Legilimency and Animagus transfiguration are very difficult, and potentially dangerous, forms of magic. Do you understand? Many a wizard has ended up in hospital or even dead if he attempted something for which he was not properly trained."

"Yes, ma'am. I give you my word."

"Good, and I will hold you to that promise," replied McGonagall with a nod. "At some point, we will need to bring in Headmaster Dumbledore for his expertise during our sessions; he is far better at Legilimency than I, for example."

"And he was your Transfiguration teacher, Professor," Brian commented politely. "And your Animagus tutor, as well."

Despite herself, Minerva colored with pleasure. _Of course he looked that up_, she thought. "Right then. I would say we are off to a good beginning; just remember to be patient with the process, alright?" She stood and he took the signal to gather his essay copies as they finished up for the evening. "What do you have for tomorrow?"

Brian paused briefly, standing when his instructor did. "Friday is Double Potions, then I'll be in the greenhouse all afternoon," he replied with a wide smile. "Professor Sprout wants to get the spring and summer crops started. Our big order of seeds finally came in."

McGonagall saw him to the door, and he paused again. "Thank you, Professor, for this, for encouraging me. I will do my best," he told her sincerely as he stepped into the hallway.

"You are very welcome," Minerva replied. "I have one more question for you to think about though…why do you suppose that Gamp's Law is important for a witch or wizard to become an Animagus?"

Brian shrugged in his usual friendly way, a gesture she was growing rather fond of. "I can't conjure something that isn't already there." He smiled up at her, not noticing that she had quickly covered up her surprised expression. "Good night, ma'am." And with that, her son headed back to Gryffindor tower, softly humming a little tune to himself.

As she quietly closed the office door, Minerva realized how floored she was by his spot-on answer; she had been a fifth year when she started Animagus training, and had endured weeks of occasionally exasperating Socratic-method questions from her tutor, Albus Dumbledore. She had little doubt now that Brian was most likely a natural Animagus, and it brought a warm glow of maternal pride to her whole being.

Pausing only to pick up the two essay parchments from her desk, Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall Flooed immediately to her husband's office, thoroughly looking forward to adding the memories of this tutoring session to Albus' Pensieve.

TBC

A/N: I hope that your 2008 is off to a rousing start! Thank you for your very kind encouragements, and there is a lemony chapter 17.5 posted over at the "Charming Roots" board if you would like to check that one out.


	19. Chapter 19

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairing: AD/MM and FF/PS

Rating: K to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language).

A/N: It is Brian's birthday, and he finally gets to celebrate with his parents.

Chapter 19/??

Summa cum veritas 

"Will it hurt?" Brian asked, sounding calmer than he felt just then.

Minerva McGonagall couldn't keep the pride out of her reassuring smile if she'd tried: her son was so honest and forthright, even if it meant embarrassing himself (or so he thought) in front of his Head of House and school Headmaster. More recently though, he had become a student of both in private sessions as they explored and evaluated the possibility that he might be an Animagus too.

She shook her head. "I shouldn't think so, Brian." Minerva looked over at Dumbledore, her eyebrows raised in a question. "Are you concerned that it might?"

"Yes, ma'am, a little," the boy replied, keeping his voice level. He took a deep, steadying breath, practicing a simple Occlumency mental discipline as best he could under the circumstances.

"No, please don't be. I have tested this potion on myself in the past, and tolerated it fairly well," Albus replied, and he could feel Brian working to control his anxiety. "But I do believe that you will fight against finishing the full dose for several reasons, young man, and that is why Professor McGonagall will act as your administrator; you may find it rather uncomfortable at times, and be assured that the discomfort of the potion will pass. Brian, you have agreed to obey whatever she tells you, am I correct?" He watched the young wizard carefully over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.

Rollins looked at the witch seated beside him and nodded, his oh-so-familiar blue eyes holding her gaze. He hoped with all of his heart that he would learn tonight just why he had grown to trust her so explicitly and so quickly over the past few months since Christmas. It was then that he had been ill enough to require a stay in the hospital wing, under the attentive care of Madam Pomfrey. At some instinctive level that he could not explain, this trust went beyond an ordinary teacher-student relationship, and he wondered why it felt so very strong.

"Yes, sir," said Brian, in a quiet but clear voice. "I will do whatever you tell me to do, Professor McGonagall." He looked at each of them in turn and they could see his resolve. Albus noted silently that this was definitely one of Minerva's determined "looks" which the boy had inherited, as he'd been on the receiving end of it many times over the years; too many times to count actually.

The trio was seated in what appeared to Brian to be Dumbledore's private study and sitting room, for his regularly scheduled Thursday evening tutorial (he thought this since they had all entered through the Headmaster's office on the seventh floor of the castle). Brian and McGonagall sat together on a well-cushioned sofa, facing the fireplace, and Dumbledore was seated in a high-backed armchair angled to their right. A silver tea service brought up by their house-elf Topher, rested on the coffee table that they had moved just out of the way.

Dumbledore pulled a large flask from a pocket of his deep scarlet robes, and lifted it up to the light to examine the contents through the dark amber glass. He uncorked the pint flask and passed it over to Brian, giving him an encouraging wink. "Right. Bottom's up, Mr. Rollins."

Albus took off his scarlet and gold velvet wizard's hat and placed it on the end table nearby, rubbing his forehead with a rare tired wince. He had painstakingly brewed the Potion himself, fully aware of its potential hazards to their son.

Brian held the flask to his nose and sniffed it gingerly, grimacing. "Ugh, gross," he commented. He took a tentative sip to taste a bit of it, retched and nearly gagged as the potion went down; the thick liquid had an odd and unpleasant texture too. He made a move as if to push it away from himself. "I'm not so sure about this. I'm sorry, Professors; that's really nasty." He grew very pale as if the small taste of it had made him sick and he swallowed heavily, trying to control the nausea that had already started.

McGonagall placed her hand firmly on his arm, drawing the flask back to his lips. "Brian, there's no going back now," she said sternly, urgently. "All of it, lad, and quickly please." She softened her tone: "You'll be just fine; I'm right here with you, alright?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Albus nod his approval. Dumbledore had explained to both of them that once this particular potion was started, the person consuming it had only a short time to take the full dose before it became toxic. Minerva certainly didn't want Brian to change his mind at this point since she knew it could be a fatal decision. Both she and Albus had agonized over its use, weighing and re-weighing the pros and cons; and, had come to the conclusion that it was the best way to allow Brian to "remember" and understand.

Rollins grimaced again and surprisingly did not argue with her, sighing with resignation as he recalled what he had just promised. "Right," he said, taking a deep calming breath. He raised the flask in a little toast. "_Slainte_." She was heartened that at least his sense of humor hadn't left him, and he could still use his basic understanding of Gaelic to tease her.

Albus was mightily impressed with what he saw next, though he wasn't surprised given what he knew about the boy's Scottish heritage (thanks to his beautiful and talented mother): it had to be purely stubborn effort, but Brian was able to drink down the entire foul-smelling and foul-tasting pint in one shot, growls of complaint emerging from him the entire time. As he sat back weakly, he closed his eyes, sweating and pale, hoping fervently that he wouldn't throw up all over the Headmaster's antique hearthrug. The now empty container slipped from his grasp and rolled toward Dumbledore who retrieved it and pocketed it once again.

Minerva and Albus watched Brian closely as he rested there, breathing deeply and trying to control his gag reflex. He swallowed heavily several times as the potion began to take effect, though he had yet to open his eyes (most certainly fighting against nausea and dizziness, which Albus had explained should pass quickly). A few soft moans of discomfort escaped his lips, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. He moved as if he was going to sit forward, but then slumped back against the sofa; his body language indicated that he was very uncomfortable at that moment.

The witch reached for his hand, growing concerned at how limp and clammy it felt; his face had turned an unhealthy shade of gray. "Brian, this is Professor McGonagall. Are you alright?" she asked, gently squeezing his fingers. She looked over at her husband, who was watching serenely. Albus winked and mouthed silently to her: _He's fine, Minerva…this is all normal…I promise._

McGonagall nearly fainted with relief when Brian finally squeezed her hand back; his eyes remaining tightly shut as beads of sweat formed on his brow and upper lip, and began coursing down his face to drip onto his shirt.

"Oh, wow. Uh, yes ma'am, I'm okay," he said hoarsely. "Just really dizzy from that nasty-ass potion Headmaster Dumbledore gave me." He slurred his speech a little at first, and sounded somewhat disoriented, but grew more lucid in a matter of moments; his fingers tightened gently around the teacup that Albus carefully eased into his free hand, just as they had planned ahead of time.

Dumbledore chuckled, once again amused at his son's Americanized euphemisms. "This is better stuff, Brian," he said lightly. "Madam Pomfrey always recommends peppermint tea to settle the stomach."

Sipping very gingerly, Brian finished the tea and opened his eyes at last, sighing again. "Much better. Thank you, sir." His voice sounded stronger and the color in his cheeks gradually improved. "We used to grow mint back home in Maine for the same reason." He then accepted a cool, damp cloth from Dumbledore to wipe at his face.

It was several moments before any of them spoke, the only sounds coming from the crackling logs in the fireplace. Brian gradually became aware that he was holding McGonagall's warm hand in his left, and he decided that it was just fine to leave it that way. Albus was content to sit patiently nearby, watching his son and his wife holding hands; a small, tender smile on his lips. Dumbledore caught Minerva's eye, and even at this distance, he could see unshed tears glistening. The look of love on her face as she sat with Brian was the most beautiful thing he thought he'd ever seen.

"No offense, Professor Dumbledore, but that potion of yours was honestly and truly the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," said Brian with a chuckle, clearing his throat and grinning broadly now. "What was it called again? I want to make sure I avoid it…like _forever_ if I can."

Albus had to laugh as Brian's friendly, inquisitive nature came back. "I completely agree with your description even if I did brew it personally, my boy, but I didn't want to unfairly bias your opinion of it beforehand in any way," he replied, eyes twinkling merrily. "It is called _'Summa_ _cum_ _veritas'_, a fairly obscure variation of the better-known _Veritaserum_. This particular formulation is not often used."

"With highest truth," the young wizard translated immediately, the same sparkle in his eyes. From where he sat, Dumbledore could fully appreciate what his wife often called his own "cheeky look", though now it was coming at him from his son. Albus rather enjoyed it.

"But why is it not often used? I mean, not that I found it appetizing or anything…is it particularly difficult to prepare or something?" Brian wanted to know. It had been rather disgusting to actually drink it down, but now he was curious about its properties.

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "No, not really, but it is rather risky and potentially lethal if used inappropriately. I am certain that we have taken every diligent precaution with it…rather a strong case of _verum vulnerit_, you could say."

Brian nodded. "Yes sir, sometimes the truth does hurt."

Minerva made a small sound of pleased surprise. "The Americans really do teach the classic languages to some of their students, don't they?" She laughed softly, giving the boy's hand another squeeze before letting go to accept the teacup and saucer that Albus offered. "Thank you, dearest. I'm sorry, Brian. I shouldn't tease you like that, and I do apologize; I have to admit to being quite impressed with your academic preparation in the U.S before coming to Hogwarts."

"My dad…er, Frank…taught classics literature and languages for years at the University in Orono before we moved out to Cherryfield." Brian paused to give her an impish, raised eyebrows look, indicating that no offense was taken. "And he insisted that we kids also study it at home. I could read _Latin_ before I could read _English_. You can imagine what that was like when I started kindergarten; a good thing I was tall for my age." He shook his head as he remembered some of the scuffles he had gotten into in his early school days.

"Frank and Juliette Rollins both put very high value on education," commented Dumbledore, blowing over the rim of his teacup to cool its pleasant-smelling contents.

"You know them, sir?"

"Oh yes, for many years in fact," said the elder wizard, but he decided not to elaborate just yet. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin, a few drops of the peppermint tea catching in his silvered beard.

"Are they magical, like you both are? A witch and wizard, I mean."

"They are indeed, very skilled ones, and that is how we met them. The U.S. Department of Magic is housed in Salem, not Washington D.C. like most American Muggles are led to believe by their politicians," said Minerva as Albus sat and sipped his tea, his eyes twinkling at the direction the questions were taking them. "Frank and Juliette chose to give up magic while they were raising you, to keep you and your siblings all safe."

It was obvious that Brian had more queries about his foster parents, if the broad grin that split his face was any indication. He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I would never have guessed that in a million years."

The witch and wizard seated with him now simply waited patiently as he seemed to get momentarily lost in fond memories of the rather short man and his wife; the foster parents who lovingly adopted and raised him from infancy. Brian stared into his empty teacup, deep in thought and forgot where he was for several minutes. Suddenly, his head snapped up, and he stared at his school Headmaster.

"Wait, Professor, you said '_we_ _met_ _them'_…"

Brian looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall and back again, as another slow smile spread across his face. "How long have you two been married?" He giggled, delighted at the way his Head of House blushed; she hadn't expected him to change topics like that…so suddenly. "Whoa, this potion must be really kicking in now." Rollins tapped his own head as if to clear the cobwebs.

Some weeks prior to this night, the Headmaster had explained that using _Summa cum veritas_ potion would enable the one who consumed it to ask (and to be asked) anything he desired. It would allow him to safely recall that which had been buried for so long in his subconscious mind, but he had to ask the right questions to unlock the memories. It was not a passive learning process, and by mutual agreement, they had chosen his usual Thursday evening tutorial session. Brian agreed immediately, thinking it was also his birthday night of February the 28th.

"Albus and I married in June of 1957, after I came to teach here at Hogwarts," Minerva said with a smile of reminiscence. She joined the school faculty in December 1956, hired to teach Transfiguration at her _alma mater_.

"Yeah! I _knew_ it," Brian exclaimed with enthusiasm, pounding once on the arm of the sofa with his slightly clenched fist. "The other guys haven't believed me at all since the start of the term. Damn, I _was_ right." For some reason, this last bit made McGonagall blush even more. She smoothed her hair self-consciously around the tight bun, and Albus moved to the other armchair at her left to take her hand in his; he himself was fighting down a broad, rather silly grin.

"Hogwarts students have been debating this issue for decades, Brian," Dumbledore explained. "We married in secret, for a number of reasons we will gladly share with you; only a few in our world know about us for certain. They are our closest allies." Albus whispered the Charm that ended the Disillusionment protection for the wedding band on his left ring finger, and Minerva followed suit.

Rollins nodded when he saw their matching wedding bands, still smiling as he reached for one of the lemon cookies on the tea tray; he obviously wasn't feeling sick from the potion anymore and his appetite for snacks had returned. "I think I understand, sir. Do you have any children?"

"Yes, we have a son," answered Minerva at once. She and Albus laced their fingers together in silent support of each other. There was a palpable air of anticipation about them, and another whispered Charm revealed claddagh rings on the couple's right-hand ring fingers.

Brian observed this and was genuinely pleased. "Really, you do? What's his name?"

McGonagall steeled herself inwardly. "We call him Brian Robert."

Their son nearly choked on the lemon square, he jumped to his feet so quickly. "That's my na…I…"

Dumbledore simply nodded as the boy's eyes grew wide, letting him mull it over for himself. Albus held Minerva's hands tightly in both of his; Brian finished the cookie, silently considering this new information and then looked down at his own hands, stretching out all ten fingers as if he'd never seen them before. His mother noted with some pleasure that he had the same strong but elegant hands as his father, even with a little gardening soil under one or two of his fingernails…the sudden recollection that Brian had told her that he _didn't_ play piano still struck her as incongruous. Just as suddenly, Minerva recalled that he was instead, a talented dancer.

"We have the same rings, all three of us," Brian whispered, awe-struck. "Except the stones are different…does yours also have the engraving on the inside part '_Cuisle mo chroi'_?" He didn't yet realize why both of them kept all of their jewelry hidden from view: Dumbledore's claddagh ring on his right hand had an onyx; McGonagall's an emerald; and, Brian's an amethyst (his birthstone).

"I made them, dear boy," said Albus soothingly as he and Minerva nodded in response to his last question. "And I Charmed them especially for us as well, although you have been making good use of it since just after Christmas Day." He chuckled. "The Muggles would call it a 'mood ring' although they are not commonly worn these days. Fallen out of fashion, I suppose."

Brian opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He looked more than a little shocked as the realization sank in: he finally knew who his birth parents were, and this was the one thing he had always, always wanted. Tiny pools of water sprang up and spilled silently down his face as he stood uncertainly, trembling before them; the tears in his eyes greatly enhancing the crystal-blue color of them by the light of the fireplace.

"I'm…I'm _really_ your son? Me?" His voice cracked with raw emotion, and Albus could feel the waves of it pouring off of the boy. "Please don't let this be some kind of joke; I'm not sure I could handle that kind of a shock right now." He let out a shuddering breath, struggling to keep his composure.

Brian was trying hard not to be skeptical but it sounded almost too good to be true: here were two of his teachers at Hogwarts for whom he cared very much; that they might actually be his Mom and Dad was another thing altogether. He felt far from home, and yet not so very far at all.

Minerva nodded, barely able to speak as tears rolled down both of her cheeks; Brian's magic was tingling pleasantly against her, a different sensation to the way she usually detected Albus' magical signature. It was obvious to both parents that he was struggling to control very strong feelings just then. "Yes, Brian, you _really_ are our son."

She was shaking a bit as she held out a hand to the boy, who hesitated only a moment before kneeling on the floor in front of her and crying with his head cradled in her lap. At long last, she could hold him and comfort him, something she'd wanted to do for decades. For his joyful part, Albus held Minerva snug with one arm about her shoulders, while he softly stroked Brian's hair, smoothing the disarrayed dark curls back from his face. He felt the tingling of Brian's magic too, as the boy calmed; both happy and sad emotions were incredibly powerful in their young son.

When his sobs finally subsided, Brian sat back on his heels, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Minerva pulled a lacy green tartan handkerchief from a pocket of her robes, and Albus wiped at both eyes with the back of his hand. For several heartbeats they just smiled tearfully at each other, trying to think of what to say next. There was no embarrassment between them, just waves of love and devotion as Brian absently twisted the gold ring with the thumb of his right hand. It had long since become an unconscious gesture.

"Am I…?" He faltered, looking away briefly, but tried again. "I mean, I have always known that the Rollinses adopted me when I was just a baby, but did they use my _real_ name?" It seemed vitally important for him to know who he was, and his mother instinctively understood why this was so.

As the gentle green-eyed witch patted his cheek, she cupped his chin in her palm, lifting his face to look at him very, very tenderly. "Your _real_ name is Brian Robert Albus McGonagall Dumbledore. What do you think of that, young one?"

He grinned broadly through a few more happy tears, his wide eyes flicking over to catch a twitch of warm amusement on Albus' face. "I like it. I like it a _lot_, in fact." He paused again, deep in thought, and then Brian reached up and lovingly pushed a loose strand of hair behind Minerva's ear. "Mother, you had long black hair when I was born, am I right?"

She smiled, wondering where this would lead. "Indeed I did."

"And Dad, yours was red, wasn't it? Your beard too, I should think." Albus nodded, replacing his gold-rimmed eyeglasses carefully, and pushing them back up on the bridge of his very crooked nose.

Brian sighed happily and leaned back to pull the coffee table closer; he toed off his sneakers and sat upon it, cross-legged, in front of Albus and Minerva (a position that always looked uncomfortable in their opinion, but he seemed to do it all the time). He held their hands, one each in his. "The penny drops…you may not believe this, but I've seen you my whole life," he said earnestly. "Really, I have, in my dreams, but I could never figure out your faces or understand your words. Now it makes a lot more sense."

For the next half hour or so, he told them his version of what they already knew, based upon his recurring dreams, asking for clarification here and there when needed. Both witch and wizard were astounded at the vividness of his memories (even if they weren't necessarily visual ones), as he was such a young infant at the time: Brian remembered the sounds and smells of the hospital where he was born, the warm comfort of nursing with his mother, and the tickle of a man's beard clutched in his hands; he remembered the louder sounds of a long train journey some time later (which Minerva told him was from Edinburgh to London and then on to Southampton).

He remembered the sounds and smells of a very long voyage by boat (which Albus told him was a three-week sail across the Atlantic); this was soon followed by another train journey (New York to Boston) and a short bus journey (Boston to Salem, Massachusetts). And it was at Salem that Brian was immediately adopted, at five months of age, by Frank and Juliette Rollins.

"Here is where the dream always ends…it's frustrating. I can hear a woman's voice talking to me and she is crying, sobbing actually," he said a little sorrowfully. "I can never make out the words."

Minerva stifled a sob as a freshet of tears sprang to her eyes, and drew him into her lap, cradling his head to her shoulder. "That was I. I said I would always love you, Angel, no matter where I was," she said, kissing his forehead, and murmuring soft words of affection. "_Cuisle mo chroi_."

Brian leaned back a little bit to look at her face, reaching again to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. He smiled as the memory clicked into place. "That's what it was." He snaked his arms around her neck and held on tight. "Finally," he said, heaving a great sigh, and resting his forehead on the side of her face.

She turned him slightly so that he could look at Albus too, while she hugged him and placed a kiss on his ear. "What else did you dream?" Minerva asked. It was a somewhat painful memory from late December of the previous year, but she recalled his dream journal and hesitated to mention it. Brian would bring it up when he was ready.

He got the "cheeky look" again and this time both of his parents saw it coming on. "Did we have a little gray cat? On the ship, I mean?"

Albus laughed first, catching right away what he meant, and then Minerva started chuckling while her husband rose to collect another service tray that Topher had arranged. "That was also me, I'm afraid, Brian. Sometimes your father would walk up on deck, no matter what the hour, while you and I were asleep. He likes to pace when he ponders and didn't want to disturb us," she explained. "If you woke, it was often the best way to entertain you in our cabin. You seemed to really enjoy it when I Transfigured into my Animagus form."

The boy snickered, giving her a sideways glance. "Well, no _wonder_ I've always liked talking to cats…and then I asked you to turn me into one not too long ago, didn't I?"

The grandfather clock over in the corner chimed, and several stomachs growled hungrily in reply. "Come here, you two," Albus called from the cloth-draped card table, still chuckling at his son's sense of humor. "Soup and toast might be quite nice, right about now, don't you think? I confess that I didn't have much appetite for dinner earlier, what with our plans for this evening."

Before heading around to the table that was being laid out by his father, Brian pulled off his sweatshirt and padded across the floor in his socks. Minerva took in his usual wardrobe of slacks and "Hogwarts" t-shirt (which he'd saved from November), shaking her head at how slender he was.

"You're so thin, Brian, don't you eat enough?" she asked, draping a hand gently on his shoulder. Minerva knew that the _Summa cum veritas_ potion he had taken would soon make him extremely tired; she and Albus had planned a light, late supper for the three of them to share.

He looked up slightly to meet her gaze; McGonagall was only a bit taller than he at 5'5", but she was certain he would catch up quickly in the coming year, if not in the coming months. _He'll be a tall man_, she thought proudly.

"Mom," he said in a soft sing-song voice, rolling his eyes a little at the way she fussed over him. "I do eat, honest, and I am still taking Madam Pomfrey's vitamin potion as instructed. I'm just a tall, skinny kid." Brian gestured to include Dumbledore and herself. "Apparently it's in my genes," he told her, grinning at her.

Minerva leaned down to kiss his cheek, giving his backside a light swat with her hand. "Alright, you and your genes can sit down and eat something with your father who is forever skipping meals…"

Albus had set three places, and a tureen of steaming vegetable soup rested at the center of the table. A pitcher of juice, a pot of herbal tea, and a rack of freshly toasted bread slices rounded out the simple meal.

"Messrs. Tall and Skinny of Gryffindor House," said Dumbledore, laughing softly. "We could open a wizard's clothing store, my boy." He too had shed his heavy outer robe, now wearing just his trousers and a gray lace-up shirt. Brian noticed the dark blue socks he had on, with yellow shooting stars racing across them.

"Hey, look at that! The socks were from you at Christmas, Dad?"

The elder wizard shook his head as he helped Minerva with her chair. "Not I. Your mother knitted and Charmed them for both of us; lovely and warm, don't you think?"

"Very much so, thank you," he told her brightly. For the next several minutes, all three of them enjoyed their soup. Minerva had to smile as she watched both her husband and her son dunk their toast wedges in the soup, and in almost exactly the same manner, before eating them (she was sure that Brian had not seen this before now). _It is uncanny_, she thought fondly. _Brian really is his father's 'dear boy', in so many ways_.

"Why did we take a ship to America, and not an airplane?" Brian wanted to know, helping himself to more toast. "A three-week journey sounds to me like it took a really long time."

McGonagall set her spoon down on her bread plate, steepling her fingers at her lips, chewing and swallowing carefully. She caught Dumbledore's eye, giving him a "shall I?" look before she spoke.

"That was the best mode of transportation at the time, Angel," she began. "You were born on February 29th, 1960, at St. Kentigern's Hospital over in Edinburgh."

"Hmpf, I always thought my birthday was the 28th of February," he said, chuckling. A heartbeat or two later, the boy nearly dropped his spoon into his soup bowl as he did a quick mental calculation. "Wait a second, you mean I'm 48 years old?! But this is only my twelfth birthday, er, isn't it?"

"Yes, and yes, Brian," replied his mother. "We still don't know how all of this is possible, to be perfectly honest."

Brian grinned, his eyes twinkling again. "Is it because I'm…I'm a _magical_ kind of guy? And _Scottish_ to boot?"

Albus and Minerva laughed out loud; some of Brian's American idiomatic expressions really were funny, even if he didn't always mean them to be. "Your mother's magic and mine must have combined in an unexpected way. You're a wizard, son, and Scottish is certainly your better half I assure you," said Dumbledore, returning the grin that morphed into a sudden yawn. "Oh my, excuse me. I'm afraid Madam Professor here often accuses me of burning the candle at both ends."

"And justifiably so," interjected Minerva, a smile quirking her lips. "You need not solve every puzzle tonight, lads."

"I think it's pretty cool, Dad. We'll figure it out," said Brian, chuckling. Unfortunately, this also morphed into a yawn that he tried valiantly to stifle with the back of his hand.

"Poor wee boys," the young man's mother commented, tutting softly in sympathy. "Did you get enough to eat?" She rose, carrying her empty bowl and bread plate back to the cart that Albus had parked nearby.

"Yes ma'am. It was good." He finished his pumpkin juice and handed over his empty bowl and plate at her gesture.

"Excellent," she replied, leaning to kiss his forehead. Minerva narrowly avoided Albus' long arms as he stretched, but she snuck in a kiss for him as well. "Right. I'll get this gathered up for Topher; why don't you two get back over to the fire? I'll just be a minute."

McGonagall hummed a little tune under her breath as she cleared away their late snack, watching Albus and Brian make their way sleepily back to the sofa. She shook her head fondly as she overheard them:

"Oh, it's far too many names to keep signing on every little document, my boy," her husband began. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…" Minerva didn't hear Brian's comment, but whatever it was made them both giggle as they plopped down together on the warm cushions.

It took her longer to clear the dishes and join them than she'd planned, as she also visited the restroom to wash her hands and face. When she finally returned to the sitting area, her breath caught in her throat: both of them were sound asleep, and Brian was leaning far over onto Albus' broad chest, snuggled close. They both looked so peaceful there that she was hesitant to wake either one.

"Albus?" she shook him gently. "We should all get some sleep if we're going to celebrate a birthday all day tomorrow. Your neck will be so sore if you stay here much longer." Albus opened his eyes, groggy, but he nodded at her whisper.

"Yes, good idea," he whispered back. Dumbledore stood as carefully as he could, not arguing with her suggestion. He bent to pick up Brian, who wrapped his arms and legs tightly around his father as he carried him down the narrow hallway to the bedroom. Albus felt tears gathering in his eyes as he remembered the weekend that Brian had spent in Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. The nickname of "Squid" was certainly appropriate.

"_Ooof_. This boy's not as skinny as he looks, Minerva," Dumbledore commented quietly, causing Brian to mumble a little, stir and reposition his head on the older man's shoulder. "Let's get you to bed, son."

"No Dad, let's stay here and talk, I'm not tired," Brian complained faintly, murmuring in his sleep, but he didn't awaken.

"Dearest, would you get us some pajamas please?" At once, Minerva drew her wand and Transfigured their clothing into matching dark blue flannel pajamas for Albus and Brian, replacing their shirts and trousers in seconds. "Ah, cozy, thank you." He carefully put the boy on Minerva's side of the bed and, while she tucked him in, he went to brush his teeth and pull back his hair for the night.

By the time he was through, McGonagall had already opened one of the bedroom windows slightly and changed into her pajamas; light gray plaid flannels this time, and had taken the center of the bed, snuggling up to Brian's back. She sighed, inhaling the lavender-sweet scent of his hair and felt an upwelling of indescribable happiness overtake her. Albus climbed into the bed behind her, lying on his right side and spooning gently against her warm softness.

"Good night, my dear Minerva," he whispered, kissing away a tear of joy from her cheek.

"Good night, Albus," she replied quietly, holding his hand close to her chest as he wrapped his upper arm around her. "Thank you for this."

For the first time in forty-seven years and seven months, the three of them slept as a family again, cuddling for warmth, and feeling completely safe and loved as they dreamed of sailing ships on the Atlantic Ocean.

TBC

A/N: Don't worry; Brian still has plenty of birthday hours left. Up next, birthday pancakes, "field trips", and surprise visitors. I got a little ahead in RL for now, and posted this chapter earlier than I planned. I hope you continue to enjoy the story; thanks very much for your reviews and kind encouragement.


	20. Chapter 20

"What if

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairings: ADMM, FFPS, and later, AMPP.

Spoilers: none.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: It is Brian's birthday, and he finally gets to celebrate with his parents. Birthday pancakes, "field trips" and surprise visitors are planned.

**_Chapter 20/??_**

**_A Leap Day of a Leap Year_**

Brian woke up in a strange bed, in the dark, and alone. And so he did what any normal child would do under such circumstances.

"Mom? Mom!" he called out, sitting up and kicking off the blankets. "Mom!"

His heart pounded in his throat as he listened intently for some kind of reply. Looking around him, the young wizard noticed a tiny sliver of light coming through a crack in a not-quite-closed door, and in a matter of moments, he heard the patter of footsteps rushing toward him from the other room. He wasn't exactly near a panic, but the sound of the woman's voice calmed him considerably, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Easy, Brian," she said in a soothing tone, softened by a light Highlands burr. "Hush now, I'm here. I'm here." As she spoke, he felt her warm arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close and rubbing his back. The bed dipped a little as she sat down next to him.

"I'll turn on a light, cover your eyes for a moment." McGonagall whispered "_Lumos_" and a table lamp glowed pale yellow beside them. She didn't want to dazzle him with bright lights, first thing in the morning.

He pulled back from her embrace a fraction, looking into her face, and smiled sheepishly; he felt a little silly at his fearful reaction upon waking. "Hi, Mom."

She returned his smile and kissed him on the forehead, feeling the pleasant tingle of his magic reaching out to hers. Both of her hands cradled his face now and she tried to brush back his thick hair; disarrayed tufts of it were sticking up here and there from sleeping on the feather pillow. "Hello, young one. Did you have a bad dream?" Minerva understood that the iSumma cum veritas/i potion would make his emotional reactions more intense for at least another twenty-four hours.

"No, it was a good one. I just didn't know where I was when I woke up."

Minerva gestured, easing off her soft indoor shoes, and Brian slid over to make room. They sat back against the ornate headboard and the pillows, side by side, and she pulled the still-warm blankets up a bit to cover their legs against the morning chill. "Completely understandable. What was your dream? Will you share it with me?"

She cast a wordless Warming charm on the room, and could see that his large blue eyes were twinkling in almost the same manner as his father's; teasing her just as Albus often did. "You transformed me into a dragon in your classroom during one of our Animagus lessons…it was really fun!"

Minerva laughed, unable to resist tickling his side a little. "Ach, did I now? Were you a good dragon, or otherwise?" The mental image of a dragon, of any size, in her Transfiguration classroom was rather funny.

"Oh, yes, a very friendly and nice dragon, Mom," he replied, chuckling, gasping and trying to pull away from her tickling hands. Brian rolled to the middle of the bed, and suddenly realized that someone was missing from the room.

"Did Dad have to go to work? I thought we were taking a school holiday for 'Leap Day'," he asked. Brian noticed that his mother was already dressed in her usual tartan green robes, over which she would wear the heavier black teaching robe in the often chilly classrooms. He had no idea what time of the morning it was.

The usually stern Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress smiled warmly at him. "Your father is in his office catching up on a few things that could not wait, but he will be back in time for your birthday breakfast. He promised."

Brian sat up again, stretching his long legs out in front of him and knuckled both eyelids briefly. "I nearly forgot. What are we having?"

She patted his knee. "It is a surprise, young man, a _birthday_ surprise. Why don't you get cleaned up and dressed first?" McGonagall nodded toward the bathroom suite. "Topher brought you some things from Gryffindor tower…clean clothes and a toothbrush at least."

He brightened immediately. "Yes, ma'am."

And with that, he scooted off the bed, pausing to kiss her cheek before racing to the bathroom in his stocking-feet. She shook her head in fond exasperation when she heard him slide on the tile floor, knocking loudly into the door as he closed it. Even at his age, Albus sometimes did the "sock slide" in their quarters, and it was a wonder he hadn't yet broken anything (or maybe he had, and repaired the damage before Minerva saw it).

When Brian came out of the bathroom, washed and dressed, he made his way into the sitting room where he heard Minerva moving plates and cutlery about. Looking about him curiously, he didn't remember the narrow hallway connected to the master bedroom from the sitting room of the Headmaster's private quarters, located in the tower just above Dumbledore's office. Of course, he'd already been sound asleep by the time Albus carried him to bed. The sitting room was alive with bright sunshine since the draperies had been pulled back. It made for a cheerful setting, Brian thought.

"Mom, may I help with anything?" he asked, eyeing the covered platters on the table, the food-aromas tempting and making his stomach growl. The table was set for three places and his heart leapt with joy at the thought of dining with his parents on such a beautiful morning at his beloved school.

She smiled, not for the first time, at his pleasant manners, silently thanking Juliette Rollins for her devotion in raising this boy. "Thank you for asking, but no, we're ready. Albus will be along shortly; he just fire-called a few minutes ago," Minerva told him, nodding toward the fireplace. Brian's eyes widened at the green flames in the hearth.

"Whoa! Why is it green?"

"It's one of our connections to the internal Floo-network," explained McGonagall. "I forget that you haven't seen some of these things before. Oh, please back up a wee bit, son. Off to one side might be safer, in fact." This last was because Brian had gone nearer to investigate, sticking his hand near the green flames to see if they were hot or not; they were warm, but not like the usual orange flame in a fireplace to which he was accustomed.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry." He moved off to the right of the hearth and squatted down on his haunches to watch, his face alight with curiosity and something Minerva thought was rapidly approaching (feline) mischief.

It was less than five minutes later that Dumbledore burst into the sitting room in a flash of green, slightly startled to see his son waiting, crouched so very nearby. Brian looked up at the tall wizard and grinned, his blue eyes twinkling with delighted interest at what he'd just seen.

"Hi, Dad." He stood and Albus caught him up in a warm hug.

Albus kissed the boy's forehead, eliciting giggles at the way his whiskers and beard tickled. "Have a good sleep, Brian?"

"Yes, sir. I did, and now I'm really, really starving." He held a hand to his stomach, pausing dramatically.

Dumbledore smiled and gave him a wink. "The potion you took will do that; it will probably make you more tired than usual too."

Brian shrugged. "Then I will take a nap after lunch since I don't have to go to classes." He paused, raising one eyebrow for effect. "The Headmaster gave us the _whole_ Friday off to celebrate, as a school treat for February twenty-ninth." Classes had been cancelled for all students, but most of them had a light Friday schedule anyway.

"You don't say?" Albus smiled and winked again, removing his heavy outer robe and placing it on the back of the sofa along with his velvet wizard's hat. Three long strides and he was at Minerva's side, embracing her and placing a tender kiss on her lips. "Good morning, again, my dearest, Professor."

Inexplicably, Brian blushed and turned aside slightly, but he was smiling. He heard Minerva give a soft laugh. "Come and sit, please. Topher assures me that you will find this breakfast to be like none other you've had here at the school, Brian." With a flick of her wand, the silver covers were removed to reveal a very hearty breakfast: pancakes, ham, haggis and bacon, grilled tomatoes and mixed fruit. A large pot of tea sat off to one side, flanked by a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar lumps.

"Blueberry pancakes?" Brian couldn't help exclaiming. "Mom, these are my favorites, thank you!"

Albus laughed softly as he poured tea for himself and Minerva. "Tea or milk, son?"

"Tea please," he replied at once, taking the proffered service tongs from his mother to stack four of the fluffy, and purplish, pancakes on his plate. She further encouraged him to take some of the mixed fruit (and served Albus a very large spoonful of fruit, indeed).

"I have never tried blueberry pancakes," Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling. "Are they as good as you say they are?"

"Yes, sir. The best," Brian assured him enthusiastically. "Maine is well known for its blueberries, and you don't even need the syrup if you don't want it. They're sweet enough as is."

McGonagall stifled a chuckle, shaking her head when Albus reached for the maple syrup to douse his short stack of pancakes. They both watched as the young wizard very carefully spread butter on each round pancake, and then arranged the neat stack. He closed his eyes and gave a soft groan of contentment as he chewed his first bite.

"I haven't had these in ages," he said. His delight was short-lived, however, and Minerva suddenly felt a crackle as his emotions shifted; Albus looked up too since he'd felt the same mild disturbance in Brian's magic. The side-effects of the potion were progressing normally.

"What is it, child?" Minerva asked concern evident in her emerald eyes. Brian swallowed heavily and she could see tears welling up.

"This is my mother's recipe, Juliette Rollins, I mean," he said softly, pushing his plate toward the center of the table with a sigh of disappointment. "What am I going to tell them about…?" He sat uncertainly, distraught and visibly trying not to cry, as Albus and Minerva nodded to each other in agreement; they must have discussed something regarding the issue of Brian's adoptive parents.

McGonagall moved her chair around so that she was very near Brian, and she put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to her. She placed a gentle kiss on his hair, and then rested her cheek on his head. "Never doubt for a moment that they, and we, love you very much, young one. Yes?"

He knew she was waiting for a reply, so he cleared his throat before he spoke, and his voice still slightly hoarse with emotion. "Yes, ma'am, I know that."

"When they adopted you so many years ago, they knew that someday, perhaps, we would find each other again." Minerva's eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Brian smiled a little at both of them. "Really?"

Albus chuckled. "Certainly. Most adopted children do seek their birth parents; at least that is what Madam Pomfrey suggested before we even left Southampton. None of us predicted this particular set of circumstances though." The elder wizard shrugged one shoulder, teasing his son before answering the questioning look he was clearly receiving as he watched the boy over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Your arrival at Hogwarts, my dear boy; last September the first. _And_ your sorting into Gryffindor House the following evening."

Brian grinned widely at that, recalling their very first conversation in the school's hospital wing. "And Animagus lessons, too?"

Minerva hugged him and then slid her chair back around to her place at the table; Brian resumed eating, his mood considerably lightened.

"That was an unexpected benefit," she said. "I had hopes though, given, I don't know, our magic. It was hard not to play favorites in class, I must confess. Professor Sprout has been exceptionally pleased to take you on as an assistant, so I lived vicariously through that for many weeks in the autumn and early winter."

"Don't forget the absolutely magnificent display of Scottish temper back in November," Albus interjected, his eyes twinkling, teasing both his wife and their son.

Brian and Minerva exchanged conspiratorial glances before attempting, and failing, to stifle their soft snickers. Dumbledore was delighted to see both of them blush a little.

"Thanks, Dad," Brian said dryly, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. "Thanks for reminding everybody. More haggis, Mother?" He grinned at Albus as he offered to serve another helping of the traditional dish onto Minerva's plate, and then served some for himself (the boy had noticed that Albus avoided it earlier). The three of them laughed loudly at that, resuming their pleasant family breakfast together.

It was several minutes filled with the sound of cutlery on plates and a comfortable lull in conversation before anyone spoke again.

"But what will I tell Frank and Juliette Rollins? I've known them as 'Mom and Dad' for so long that…I should visit them in Maine, tell them in person, shouldn't I? I can't imagine putting something like this in a letter," he said, making a face at the thought.

"Would you like to visit with them here at the school?" Albus offered, nodding slightly at Minerva; another issue that they had previously discussed.

Brian sat bolt upright, swallowing his mouthful of blueberry pancake and haggis. "Yes! That's a great idea. Can it be arranged on such short notice?"

Albus just shrugged noncommittally. "I am sure that it can; I'll speak to the Headmaster about it." He relented and grinned at the earnest look from his son. "I am sure it can be arranged, Brian. They will be arriving for dinner tonight, in fact. We meant it as a surprise."

Brian's bright smile rivaled the Sun. "Thank you!"

Dumbledore looked across the table at his wife of more than five decades, his own smile warm with affection. He always marveled at Minerva's beauty and her passion, and now he marveled at the way their son wore his heart on his sleeve.

"I am sure they will pleased to see you too, young man," he said. "Now, how about presents? It is your birthday, after all!"

Brian's eyes widened as he looked from one to the other. He grinned and shrugged in his usual friendly way. "I'm honestly not sure what could make this day more awesome than it already is…"

McGonagall was beaming as she cleared away the breakfast dishes with a wave of her wand. "If you handsome lads have had enough to eat, why don't you move over to the sofa? It'll be more comfortable, and I will join you in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

By the time Minerva returned to the sitting area, Albus and Brian were deeply involved over a backgammon board that the elder wizard had Charmed onto a low table between them. She frowned slightly since it was an unusual set up.

"'Acey-deucy', Mom," Brian explained, noting her mildly puzzled look. "It's a little faster version we always played back home, and Dad said he wanted to learn."

"Interesting," she commented, her eyes sparkling with amusement; she watched Albus concentrating on his next roll of the dice and move of the ivory checkers. Feeling her gaze upon him, Albus looked up smiling, knowing full well what she was thinking about: more often than not, Albus Dumbledore lost spectacularly at backgammon.

Sipping a fresh cup of hot tea, Minerva contented herself to watch the players as she sat across from the two men in her life. She recognized in Brian her own competitiveness—and luck at backgammon when he quickly began moving his dark mahogany checkers from the home side and then off the board. Minerva also recognized his gentle, teasing humor which she appreciated as one of his father's finest traits. True to his word that it was a faster game, Brian soon had Albus "skunked" with none of his pieces moved off at all.

"Next time you can pick the game, Dad," Brian said, getting up to hug Albus who was pretending to be sorely disappointed at his sound defeat. "I know you are much better at wizard's chess."

Dumbledore sighed, smiling. "Well, alright then. Here, why don't you sit by me—I think your Mum has a birthday gift to present to you." He banished the low table and the rest of the game with a wave of his hand, and sat back next to Brian. Both of them looked expectantly over at Minerva.

McGonagall set aside her teacup and saucer. "What do you recall from the first few days of Transfiguration class, Brian?"

If the boy was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "You told us that Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic we will learn at Hogwarts," he replied at once. "And that teachers typically do not condone the use of Transfiguration as punishment—that was the first day, I think."

Albus chuckled, glancing at Minerva who seemed very pleased. "Indeed it was," she said, smiling. "Would you like to try an Animagus transformation for a little while this morning? We can assist you, as much as you need."

Brian laughed, his eyes glittering with anticipation. "Sure!"

"I rather thought you'd be agreeable to the idea," said Minerva, taking her wand from a pocket of her robes. "Shall we try a cat transformation?"

"Yes, ma'am," Brian immediately agreed. His was certain that his cheeks were going to hurt from smiling so much. "What do I do?"

Standing over him, Minerva gently smoothed his hair with her non-wand hand. "Relax and visualize yourself as a cat. I will cast the spell for you although your intent will also be useful too." She paused a moment, thinking of the first few times she made the feline Transformation.

"It will be startling at first, to be in your new body, so to speak, but you have nothing to be afraid of, alright? You are safe here with Albus and me, and will probably grow to enjoy your new characteristics; I am still able to understand what is said to me when I am in my Animagus form, believe it or not. Let me know when you are ready."

The boy grinned over at Dumbledore, and then looked back up at Minerva. He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good lad," she said, noting that he was able to implement the basic mind-clearing Occlumency exercises they'd been practicing in his tutorials. "Now…_Felis verto_."

As Minerva softly tapped the top of his head with her wand, there was a faint pop, and in Brian's place now sat a black and white cat. It was no surprise that the lithe and handsome young male cat had very large bright blue eyes.

"Meow!" Brian-as-cat exclaimed as he involuntarily dug his claws into the dark green upholstery of the settee and looked as if he were about to flee, but he relaxed as Albus stroked a warm hand down his back. Dumbledore could feel the wiry muscles of the young wizard tensing like springs and observed that Brian's ears and whiskers were gradually moving to a more curious rather than frightened position. Over the years, the Headmaster had become quite adept at reading feline body language.

"Very nice tuxedo you have there, son," Albus commented, his voice calming and low as he continued to stroke the cat's soft coat from neck to tail. This compliment started a rumbling happy purr in reply. "These black and white markings are rather appealing, don't you think Minerva?"

"Indeed they are; well done, Brian," she said, sitting down beside Dumbledore. Brian-as-cat stood and rubbed his face on her outstretched hand, and then tentatively reached up to stroke her cheek, his claws now safely sheathed. A loud purr still rumbling deep in his chest, he climbed into Minerva's lap and stretched upwards to touch the tip of her nose with his soft black lips.

He sat there in her lap with his eyes partly closed, accepting her scratches and tickles along his sleek black fur while she admired his markings, and murmured quiet words of affection to him. Brian-as-cat was mostly black from nose to tail, but with a large white patch on his chest…very close to the "tuxedo" description that Albus had observed. His front paws had tiny white "gloves", and there was a very small black splotch under his chin, as if he wore a bow-tie with his elegant coat.

"Mrr-row?"

To her ears, it did sound like a question, so she answered with: "Oh, by all means, off you go. There is nothing in here that will harm you, young one." Since he now had permission to do so, Brian gracefully leapt down and started exploring the other furniture in the room, his tail held high and twitching ever so slightly as he investigated his surroundings.

Dumbledore chuckled quietly, reaching to take her hand in both of his. "Now where have I seen this before, my dear?" He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. Minerva smiled and snuggled closer.

"Tell me, Headmaster, where _have_ you seen this before? Met many cats in your life then?"

"Mmmm, a few. But none as attractive as these two," he said warmly, putting one arm around her and kissing her hair.

They sat together in comfortable silence, watching their son-as-cat silently wandering the room, pausing now and then to lick a front paw or groom his side. McGonagall couldn't help smiling with pride, recognizing that she, too, had gone through the same initial reluctance at her feline Transfiguration so many years before. She felt certain that Brian would become as comfortable as she was as a cat Animagus.

Brian returned to them several times as he made his circuit around the room, leaping up into Albus' or Minerva's lap (and improving with each leap) to accept gentle reassuring pats and scratches behind his expressive ears. He made Albus laugh out loud when the young cat tried to groom the elder wizard's long silvery beard, getting several hairs stuck on his raspy tongue. Each time he "visited" their laps, he made sure that he rubbed his forehead on Minerva's cheek before he leapt off again.

A few minutes later, thinking that Brian-as-cat was hiding under one of the wing-backed chairs nearby, the witch and wizard were somewhat surprised to hear a plaintive cry from the top of a bookcase. Minerva looked up just in time to see a frightened young cat, crouching and clinging to the top shelf, some nine or ten feet off the floor.

"Easy, Brian," she said, getting up and heading over to the bookcase. "We'll get you down." McGonagall turned as Albus rose, yawning slightly and came to her side.

"What is it?"

Minerva sighed softly. "It looks like his acrophobia carries into his Animagus form," she said. "Aye, no matter…we can work on it later. Catch us, Professor?" She tiptoed up to kiss him on the cheek, whispering a promise for his ears only.

Dumbledore chuckled, looking up to the top of the bookcase. "Of course, my dear."

With a soft pop, Minerva Transformed into her Tabby-cat Animagus, "meowing" softly as she effortlessly made her way up to the high piece of furniture. Brian-as-cat was plainly relieved, greeting her with licks to her face, and both of them started purring loudly enough for Albus to hear. The gray tabby looked pointedly down at the Headmaster.

"Watch your Mum, Brian. Watch how I will catch you," he directed in a calming voice, beckoning with one hand. "Come on, sweet Tabby. Jump to me." Albus chuckled again, thinking how seductive that could sound if they were in other circumstances.

Minerva-as-cat leapt gracefully down to his shoulder, and the wizard caught her to his chest, pausing to stroke her back. She reached to kiss his whiskery cheek, purring loudly, before leaping to the floor and transfiguring back to her human form in mid-air.

McGonagall smiled, looking back up at the young black and white cat. "Your turn, lad. Come on, Brian; it's alright."

There was a momentary pause before Brian-as-cat made the jump, his eyes wide with fright, onto Albus' broad chest. Dumbledore immediately cradled the cat securely to his shoulder, rubbing his back, and murmuring reassuring words. Minerva was pleased to note that Brian's claws were safely sheathed, and his loud, rumbling purr resumed quickly as he relaxed in his father's arms.

"Very well done," Albus said as he walked back to the settee, carrying Brian with him. Brian-as-cat had turned slightly in Albus' arms so that he was being held like an infant, voluntarily submitting to soothing rubs on his white chest fur. "Here, I think that is enough for this session, don't you?" Dumbledore gently placed the cat on the sofa beside him, and Brian sat upright once again.

"Meow." Albus laughed since this sounded very much like an agreement from his son.

Minerva drew her wand and whispered a _Finite Incantatem_, Transfiguring Brian back to his human form.

Brian looked momentarily dazed sitting there, but then he smiled sheepishly up at his mother. "I'm sorry I was a big scaredy cat." He couldn't resist stretching a little and giving a soft groan of pleasure, closing his eyes as he rolled the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.

Minerva returned his smile fondly, recognizing the very feline gesture from her own Transformations, and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Nonsense. You did well for a first timer, Brian, truly you did. I will have some stories for you about my Animagus training, for another time."

Albus had moved to the window briefly, answering a slight tap from a school owl. He came back to rejoin them in the sitting area, chuckling as he read the addressee. "Ah, excellent! Your Post, young man."

The boy looked mildly puzzled until he read the spidery scrawl on the note. "It's from Hagrid," he said with a laugh. "I'm invited to a birthday party for Ron and me, at um, twelve thirty. Gryffindors only."

"Mr. Weasley's birthday is March first," McGonagall explained. "And that will give me time to finish our other preparations." She winked down at Brian, but did not comment further.

-/-/-/-/-/-

As usually happens, RL got bvery/b hectic since the last update! A few days ago, I anonymously donated stem cells for a man who has leukemia…and I pray that all goes well for him. Check out www(dot)marrow(dot)org if you are interested in learning more about stem cells and bone marrow.

Thank you for your patience and for reading this far! My muse is making her way back from whatever journey she's been taking… ;-)


	21. Chapter 21

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairings: ADMM, FFPS, and later, AMPP.

Spoilers: none.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: It is Brian's birthday; he gets to celebrate with his parents and meet his godparents as well. Birthday dinner parties and _surprise_ visitors are planned.

_**Chapter 21/??**_

_**Fidelius Charm and the Vox Cassandra**_

Brian (Robert Albus McGonagall Dumbledore) Rollins adjusted his scarlet and gold Gryffindor tie once more as he rode upwards on the gargoyle staircase to the Headmaster's office, smoothing down his black school robes and brushing the tip of each shiny black shoe on the opposite leg of his trousers. Although he didn't show it, he was nervous and excited about the upcoming evening: his adoptive parents were due by Portkey from Maine to join him along with Albus and Minerva for a birthday dinner celebration. His assigned password at the gargoyle had been "butterscotch disks", and he wasn't sure if the broad grin would ever leave his face; he'd been celebrating all day long (it was a special school holiday too, in honor of the Leap Day).

The young wizard was about to knock on the heavy wooden outer door, when it swung open, creaking only softly. He noticed that Dumbledore was seated at his desk, sorting through parchments left and right, but he couldn't see whether a wand had been used. Brian's eyes sparkled as he came in, treading lightly to make his way up the few steps to the dais and stand in front of the ornate desk.

"Good evening, Headmaster," he said politely. "I hope I haven't delayed your dinner too long, sir."

Dumbledore smiled brightly, nodding his approval when he saw his son's new haircut and distinguished full-robed school uniform. He winked as he came around to shake the youthful-looking Gryffindor's hand.

"Not at all, my boy, not at all. Right on time in fact," Albus replied, his eyes sparkling with the exact same humor. Both wizards were aware of the portraits and their occupants…pretending to sleep or pass the time otherwise. One of the Headmistress portraits was smiling and nodding over her needlepoint just then, subtly appreciative of the tall young man's pleasant manners and handsome garb; apparently she was able to get beyond his American accent. A few of her portrait-colleagues had complained once or twice, mentioning a "U.S. invasion" or some such nonsense.

"I wasn't sure what would be appropriate dress for dinner with you and Professor McGonagall," Brian explained. "Is this alright?" He knew that Dumbledore often wore elaborate outer robes and hats on most occasions, and this was no exception. The crimson robe was accented with deep bronze velvet piping, set off dramatically by his long, silvery hair and beard.

Albus smiled warmly, patting the first year Hogwarts student on the shoulder, and gesturing for the boy to go on up the spiral brass staircase to the Headmaster's suite in front of him. "I believe that your Head of House will approve of your selection of attire, Mr. Rollins. Let's get upstairs and not keep her waiting any longer, shall we?"

Once inside the private suite, Albus put a hand on Brian's arm (and the boy felt a tingle of magic while Albus cast a Visitors' Charm on the door), calling out: "Minerva, dearest! You have a special guest." He pulled his son into a warm embrace. "And happy birthday, once again, Brian. I do hope you've been enjoying your day." Dumbledore chuckled when he felt Brian give him a hard squeeze around his chest, laughing face-first into the ticklish beard hairs.

"Thank you, Dad," he said, turning his head slightly so he wouldn't be muffled too much when he spoke. "It is a great one, really!"

No sooner had Brian turned around than Minerva arrived at the short foyer, wiping her hands on a small, white kitchen towel. She banished it with a word, taking his face in both hands, smiling through a few happy tears as she generally fussed over him.

"My, my, let me look at you, lad. You've grown since this morning, haven't you?"

Dumbledore chuckled again, removing his hat and making his way to the sitting room. "Your mother is exaggerating, my boy." He shook his head dotingly, teasing her with a light brushing of his fingertips on her sleeve as he made his way to where a stocky, kilted and one-legged wizard was pouring drinks.

Brian blushed faintly, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Minerva. "Actually, I think I _did_ grow a couple of inches since breakfast, Mom. My slacks were too short when I woke up and I just wore them to class yesterday," he said, indicating his trouser legs. "Hermione helped me with some tailoring spells…"

"And a haircut as well?" asked McGonagall. "It's a very fine-looking short style on you." She brushed a few stray strands upwards from his forehead.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," he replied quickly, shrugging out of his over-robe with her assistance. "It's what I'm used to really, and it makes swimming a whole lot easier if I can see where I'm going!" He looked forward to the spring days when he could resume swimming in the Black Lake; Elliot, the Giant Squid said he missed him at their last brief conversation.

"Good," she commented, leading him to the fireplace and sending his robe to hang near the door. Alastor Moody had just handed Albus a short whisky, and was taking up one of the same for himself. "I believe you gentlemen did meet at Christmas, Alastor?"

The wizard turned and Brian was pleasantly surprised that he recognized the ex-Auror with his one artificial leg and grizzled features; Moody's magical eye whirred in its place as he looked on, noting with interest the Charmed gold claddagh ring that his godson wore.

"Aye, we did," he growled. "Keeping on top of your studies, then? No skiving in this lot, not with a Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress and Ministry malcontent to please."

"Absolutely, sir," Brian replied at once, not sure if the man was making a joke, holding out his right hand. "And good evening."

Albus chuckled, sipping at his firewhisky. "Brian, now we can introduce you two brave Gryffindors properly…Alastor Moody is your godfather," he said as they shook hands. "And one of our closest family friends."

"M-hmm," said Alastor, giving Brian a wink to put him at ease. "Here, have a beer for your birthday, my lucky boyo; it's the least that a watchful godfather can bring." The young wizard didn't hesitate, taking the freshly-opened bottle of butterbeer that was offered; he'd overheard upper classmen talking about their Hogsmeade weekends, but had never before tried anything like it.

Minerva clucked her tongue at the three of them, Summoning a clean pint glass from the shelf above the sideboard. She handed it to Brian, as he was about to take a sip from the amber beer bottle. "We'll be civilized about it, if you don't mind, lads," she admonished mildly. He just grinned at her as he poured a perfect pint (his first ever), the head of froth smooth and creamy; McGonagall gave him a swat on the arm as she took the now empty bottle and returned with it to the kitchen. "Cheeky," she told him, smiling and shaking her head fondly.

"Yes, ma'am," said Brian. "Thanks, erm…how should I address you, Mr. Moody?"

Alastor looked pleased by the question, although you would have to know him well to recognize the expression on his scarred and craggy face. "_Uncle_ is fine; that's common here in the U.K. But with the _Fidelius_ Charm, we'll…"

"Have to tell you about it later, my boy," Albus interjected with a significant look at Moody. He held up his glass. "Here now, let's drink to your very happy birthday, and many happy returns of the day…be it every year or every four!" Albus, Alastor, and Brian all touched glasses, and the birthday wizard took a sip from his butterbeer.

"That's wonderful, really tasty," he said, smacking his lips a little and wiping the thin froth mustache from his mouth with one hand. "So, tell me Dad, am I forty-eight or twelve today?"

Albus shrugged, his eyes twinkling over his glass. "Given that it is a Leap day of a Leap year, young man, both, I would have to say."

There was a knock at the door, and Dumbledore waved his hand to open it. Outside, Poppy Pomfrey stepped to her right revealing a witch and wizard, both salt-and-pepper-haired and rather short. She smiled warmly when she noticed Brian, his back to her, leaning in close to Alastor, laughing at something "Mad-Eye" was whispering to him.

"Good evening, Headmaster," she said cheerily as they entered the foyer. "Hagrid was able to meet your special _international_ visitors at the front gates." The school Head matron took their cloaks, sending them to hang neatly on the nearby coat tree.

Albus strode over to Juliette Rollins, embracing her warmly and kissing her on both cheeks. "Welcome to Hogwarts! Welcome," he said again, now shaking hands with Frank Rollins.

"Thank you, Headmaster," replied the American wizard, looking up at Dumbledore, more than a full head taller than he. "It's good to see you again."

"And you," was the reply. "But, please, we're family now, as it were…call me Albus."

Frank Rollins grinned broadly, taking his wife's hand in his as they followed Albus to the cozy sitting area. Brian was oblivious to their arrival, engrossed in conversation with his interesting godfather (now that he knew who the man was); he carefully set his butterbeer on the sideboard and was gesturing with both hands, explaining something.

Winking at Moody over the boy's shoulder, Rollins cleared his throat loudly. "So, what's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here, barman?" His accent was decidedly American, and distinctively "New England" with its very broad vowel sounds.

Open-mouthed with surprise as he easily recognized the voice, Brian whirled around and saw his foster parents. He rushed to hug them both. "You made it! Mom, Dad…uh, sorry, I mean…" he stammered as he saw McGonagall coming over to them, waving her wand over the table which was set for seven, lighting several candles at the simple centerpiece of thistle flowers. Brian stepped back half a pace, embarrassed and blinking back tears.

Juliette followed his glance, and smiled at Minerva, reaching to take her hand and Brian's, in her warm grasp. "Minerva, thank you for inviting us to come."

The Head of Gryffindor house nodded, squeezing the short, dark-eyed witch's hand and leaning to hug her about the shoulders. "It is our pleasure, truly. Did you have a good journey?"

"Sure," said Juliette. "Portkeys across the Atlantic are not as bad as I remembered them." She chuckled softly, pulling Brian closer, and resting his hand on top of Minerva's as she shifted her own to cover them. Reaching with her freed hand, she wiped tears from Brian's face. "Sweetheart, you are a lucky, lucky boy. Not many foster children get to meet their birth parents, you do know that, don't you?"

Brian looked down at her, giving a lop-sided shrug and sniffling a little. "Yes, ma'am, but…"

"No _buts_," she told him, giving his fingers a squeeze, and then letting go, smiling tenderly at him. "If it makes you feel better, call me 'Mama' like you did when you were tiny and Professor McGonagall will be 'Mom', alright? There's room in your heart for all of us, and to spare, I have no doubt."

Smiling tentatively, Brian looked at Minerva. "Will that be alright? I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings…" he asked in a shy, hesitant voice.

McGonagall's eyes sparkled as she returned his smile. "I think it's an excellent idea," she said, glad that Juliette had understood the situation so easily; it was obvious that she knew this boy very well.

Juliette Rollins laughed, a warm familiar sound to his ears. "You've grown at least a foot since I saw you last August! What's in the water up here in the glens?"

Brian grinned, blushing. "Giant _squids_, among other things, Mama!" He looked over at Albus and Frank, standing side by side, struck just then by the humorous differences in his two "Dads": Dumbledore was very tall and slim, his long flowing white hair and beard shining brightly; and, Frank Rollins, who was now a few inches shorter than Brian himself, balding and rather rotund…but both were saluting him with raised glasses of firewhisky.

"You're also lucky to have two extremely intelligent mothers, my boy," joked Albus.

"More attractive than any witches on either side of the pond, if you ask me," added Frank. "And the best looking godmother as well." Rollins nodded at a beaming Poppy Pomfrey who stood close to Alastor, her arm wrapped around his.

"Right," said Moody firmly, setting his empty glass on the mantle and giving Poppy a quick kiss on the lips before disengaging from her loving touch. "Glad we got that wee bother sorted before dinner." He drew his wand and conjured a plain wooden stool, giving Brian a wicked grin. "Up you get, lad; give you some practice with barstools so I can take you on a proper pub-crawl when we get over to Edinburgh and Inverness and Ullapool and…" The gruff ex-Auror sighed wistfully as he thought of all of the drinking establishments, both Muggle and Wizarding that he knew throughout Scotland.

Albus and Frank chuckled. "Just as I always remember you, Alastor," said the shorter, barrel-chested wizard, moving to stand where Moody indicated. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Aye, and I haven't lost too many _more_ bits since then either," he said in his gravelly voice. Alastor was the only one who noticed Poppy's eyes rolling at his innuendo as a faint flush rose to her cheeks. "Albus and Minerva here, please…"

Somewhat confused, but doing as he was instructed, Brian sat upon the barstool, resting his heels on the middle rung, and watched as Moody politely directed the two couples to surround him, wands drawn. He caught a friendly wink from Madam Pomfrey (who interestingly enough, was not participating in the _Fidelius_ ritual) and he smiled back a little bashfully, not sure what to make of all of the attention. He literally _was_ the center of attention at that very moment.

"Brian," Albus said warmly, reaching to touch the boy's shoulder before he continued: "you haven't covered this one in Professor Flitwick's course yet, but the _Fidelius_ Charm is for your protection. As Alastor is also the Secret Keeper, he'll be directing our magic to cast the Charm for you; nothing to worry about!"

"You once mentioned something about protecting my identity, and yours…all of yours," Brian replied, his gaze intense as he looked at Dumbledore, resplendent in his robes with his wand drawn; Albus had never used his wand in the boy's presence before, relying primarily on wandless and/or wordless magic during their tutorial sessions.

"Indeed," agreed Albus. "A wise precaution, we believe, considering the behavior and attitudes of some in the Wizarding world today…at least in Britain."

The boy suddenly flashed a happy grin at the Rollinses; he'd never, ever viewed them as magical, and yet, here they were standing near him with wands in their hands. He shook his head in amusement. "I only found out last night that you could do magic too."

Frank chuckled, teasing him. "I can't have you learning all of my secrets now can I, Sunny Jim? What would I do for fun?"

Minerva had a sudden recollection of a few of the more involved warding rituals in which she'd participated in the past (including the ward renewals of Hogwarts castle herself). "Would you like to see what is going on, Brian? It can be rather beautiful with the streams of magic around you."

Brian hadn't considered such a thing was possible (he'd mentioned in tutoring sessions, though, that he was able to "feel" certain magical events now that he knew what they were). "Cool! Yes, please…I would!"

Albus smiled at her, waiting as she whispered the necessary spell. "Thank you, dearest; I was going to make that suggestion, but you were quicker than I. Alastor, carry on when you are ready, my friend."

With a swish of his wand toward all four of Brian's parents, Moody began the _Fidelius_ incantation under his breath. Colorful bands of magic swirled around the barstool, weaving themselves from Brian's head to his feet, and back again. Involuntarily, he laughed as the intertwined bands tightened warmly around him, flowing effortlessly from the five wands surrounding him; it didn't tickle, exactly, but a palpable rush of pure joy and confidence filled him as he watched the vivid colors in the room.

After a minute or so, he heard Albus, Minerva and the Rollinses adding their voices to the end of the incantation (mainly in Latin, but also in another tongue which he didn't understand). It didn't matter though; he was enjoying the physical and visual sensations, happier at that moment than he'd ever been in his life. A curious thought came to him as he moved his gaze from one face to the next, coming to rest on McGonagall's; he winked at her before he clearly spoke an incantation of his own, one he had heard that very morning:

"_Felis_ _verto_!"

With a loud "pop", he Transformed into a handsome black-and-white cat, the same one from his pancake breakfast, once again with tuxedo markings. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he sat there on the plain wooden barstool, watching his Animagus mother, and school's Transfiguration Mistress.

Minerva gasped in surprise, but held Albus' wand arm as he was about to undo the spell. "Just a moment please, my love," she said as she stepped closer to the high seat, reaching to stroke along the soft fur of her son-as-cat's back. "That was a bit of a naughty surprise, young man, but I think you were fortunate to have the five of us here with you."

Brian-as-cat lifted a paw to touch her arm, his whiskers and ears pricking forward. "Mrr-row!" he replied, seemingly in answer to her mildly admonishing statement. A deep, rumbling purr of contentment came from his chest when she scratched behind his ears; he gently butted his head against her waist if she stopped.

Albus laughed, nodding in understanding (and not at all surprised, now that he had given it some thought) that Brian had utilized the combined magic streams around him, his ability borrowed temporarily from the five adults. "Fair do, my boy, fair do! Good thing we are having a fish course for dinner, isn't it? Neither of you would speak to me if we didn't." He tucked his wand away in a pocket of his robes, and sat comfortably on the couch, Summoning his glass of firewhisky from the sideboard.

Alastor shook his head and reached for Poppy's hand. He chuckled. "That calls for another drink," he said, patting Dumbledore's shoulder as he stepped by. "You and Fawkes are in big trouble, laddie. Two in one family, the wee birdies might have a time of it, phoenixes or not."

Brian-as-cat, still standing on the conjured barstool, was now accepting pats and scratches from Juliette Rollins. "I like the markings, Brian," she complimented, tickling under his chin. "We had a cat that looked just like this one when we still lived in Salem," she explained to Minerva. "In fact, the children named him 'Tux'."

"Thank you," said Frank Rollins, accepting a short whisky from Alastor. "I wondered how the Animagus lessons were going…"

"Rather well, I'd say," Minerva commented dryly, smirking at the self-satisfied look on Albus' face. She leaned down to touch her nose to Brian's. "I think I'll check on our fish now, my darling wee 'Mr. Tux'," she whispered.

Brian-as-cat closed his eyes, purring even more loudly and twirling joyously in place on the narrow seat, his tail high in the air. This made both Minerva and Juliette laugh, sharing an amused look, as their son seemed pleased to hear at least one of the menu items for the evening. After one more pat from his American mother, he leapt down and made his way over to the hearthrug, crouching down to roll to-and-fro on his back in front of the warm fire, groans of pleasure coming from his throat. This caused more laughter on the part of the adults who were observing his feline antics, and he finally got to his feet for one last stretch; first his front paws, and then his hind legs were extended gracefully before he sat at last, looking expectantly at Dumbledore with his brilliant blue eyes.

"Meow?" His tail curled to wrap around his feet and he looked the perfect picture of a young, healthy cat.

"Are you ready for your birthday dinner, then?" asked Albus, looking down over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, a corner of his beard twitching in amusement.

The handsome black and white cat yawned widely, showing flawless and sharp feline teeth, seeming to nod his agreement with the Headmaster.

"Very well," Albus continued, raising his hand casually. "_Finite_."

Another loud "pop", and Brian resumed his human form, sitting back on his heels in front of the fire. He grinned as he stood. "Thanks, Dad. That was much more fun this time around!"

-/-/-/-/-/-

The meal was extraordinary, from the baked salmon steaks over crunchy pine nuts and rice pilaf, to the roasted summer mixed vegetables and the heirloom tomato with fresh basil vinaigrette salad, to the sponge cake drizzled with lemon-sugar icing, everyone commented favorably on the preparations by Minerva, Topher, and indirectly, Brian himself.

"Most of the fresh produce was picked from your projects in Professor Sprout's greenhouses," Minerva told him as their plates were served and they began to eat. "Pomona helped Topher and me make our selections for your birthday dinner, in fact."

Juliette took a bite of the colorful tomato salad (red, yellow, orange, and even purple fruits were in it), and smiled at the youngster. "All from seeds, I'll guess; are you still using our favorite Jiffy-pots, sweetheart?"

Brian blushed in his usual endearing manner. "Of course! We got special Headmaster permission to order from Thompson and Morgan…Muggle-style." He ate a forkful of fish, looking thoughtful while he chewed and swallowed it. "I've been wondering something though; did you ever use magic when I was growing up? Like for gardening or anything?"

She smiled at the question, favoring her husband with a loving glance too. "Actually, none at all, believe it or not. The plants are quite magical on their own, and it's not difficult really, as long as one is patient," said the kindly American witch. "And besides, _you_ were the one who talked to all of the plants and pollinating insects for me, remember?"

The boy grinned, and looked over at Albus who was chuckling. "What varieties are you most accustomed to growing, young man? I do recall the lovely tomato plant which you gave me at Christmas." He poured more wine for those who wanted it, continuing the conversation as he coordinated spells to Levitate and pour from the bottle.

"Oh, yes, the 'Lemon-boy Jubilee' was that one," replied Brian, trying not to stare as the wine bottle moved from place to place. "But it was grown with magic, at least in part due to the cold here." He stabbed a small wedge of tomato with his fork, holding it up for a moment. "This one is called 'Black cherry'; the little orange ones are called 'Gold nugget'; and, the other cherry tomatoes are 'Balconi red' and 'Balconi yellow', respectively. I think I like the cherry varieties the best, although Hagrid asked about growing some of the bigger tomatoes for him…he seems to have more luck with pumpkins and cabbages. Winter stuff, I guess."

"Wonder why," Frank commented, smiling when he thought of his surprise at meeting the huge, gentle half-giant at the school gates earlier that day. "What about the eggplant and squash? You used to crawl around the gardens back home for those, having conversations here and there."

"Mostly 'Calliope' and 'Rosanna' for the small eggplant; 'Black beauty' and 'Enorma' for the big ones," Brian said. "I think the squash are 'Crookneck' and 'Parthenon'…I'll have to ask Professor Sprout. She and Neville, he's one of my housemates in Gryffindor, and I had a lot of fun just looking through the catalogs one snowy afternoon."

Juliette nodded her agreement, including Minerva and Poppy in her glance. "That's probably my doing, ladies. He learned to read mostly from seedsmith catalogs!" This brought soft chuckles from the three witches.

Albus cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, turning from a quiet conversation with Alastor. "Brian, I don't mean to cast a damper on your evening, but we should explain to you at least some of the details of the _Fidelius_ ritual. It might help ease some of the less than pleasant aspects, just in case."

Brian sat up straighter, and looked across the circular table at the elder wizard. "Yes, sir. Is it dangerous? The potion last night was…er, _unappetizing_ at first." He grimaced a little at the recollection.

"No, not in and of itself. Alastor Moody is your godfather, and your Secret Keeper; none but he can pass on the information of your true identity," he began, his gaze intense as he watched his young son absorbing this new information.

"And I won't, lad," growled Moody. "Bank on that." Brian met his gaze unwaveringly.

"I will, Uncle," he said. "I promise I will."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Although Madam Pomfrey did not directly participate, she is included in the group of six of us as your godmother," he said, gesturing to the Rollinses, to Minerva and to Alastor. "Even _you_, my dear boy, cannot reveal the secret to anyone, regarding the circumstances of your birth, nor can you be forced to do so by the use of Legilimency or otherwise."

The young wizard took a deep breath. "The Imperius and the Cruciatus, you mean?" On either side of him, he felt the warm touches of reassurance from both Minerva and Juliette. Over the months since the Headmaster's appointment with Sybil Trelawney, Albus and Minerva (and, Frank and Juliette) had discussed by coded and Charmed Owl Post the necessity to provide Brian with whatever information he needed to "make his own choices".

"Exactly. Alastor was kind enough to add another level of protection to the ritual, one that will further keep you from unwanted attention we hope: even if you suggest that we are husband and wife," Albus said quietly, his eyes glistening as he looked at Minerva. "None will believe that you are telling the truth."

"The _Vox Cassandra_," commented Frank. "That's rare, isn't it, Albus?"

"It is. The texts we found were even older than the Greeks," was the reply. "Muggles consider the tale of Cassandra to be a myth, but…" Albus shrugged.

"So, if I tell any of my friends that Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall are married, and have been for years…nobody will believe me? Even though it is the absolute truth?" Brian raised both eyebrows, seeming incredulous.

Albus sighed. "That is correct. And, I apologize to you both. I saw few alternatives."

Brian smiled ruefully. "They didn't believe me last fall when I suggested it; why should they believe me now?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

By the time the group retired after dinner to the armchairs and the sofa in the warm, comfortable sitting area, Brian was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. The adults were all enjoying small snifters of brandy and the birthday-boy was tucked comfortably between Minerva and Juliette, his stocking-feet drawn up as he sat cross-legged on the center cushion of the sofa. Conversations were quiet now; the light piano concerto playing on the Wizarding music box that sat to one side was pleasant and peaceful.

With a promise to meet Frank and Juliette Rollins outside of the Great Hall before breakfast the next morning (and a later tour of Professor Sprout's greenhouses), Brian reluctantly went around embracing each of his parents and godparents, and sleepily went along with Madam Pomfrey who would escort him back to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. As guests of the Headmaster, the Rollinses would stay the weekend at Hogwarts, visiting their student like any other parents could, before heading over to Edinburgh for the remainder of their trip to the United Kingdom.

It had been a lengthy process, the renewal of the _Fidelius_ ritual and the addition of the _Vox_ _Cassandra_…but now Brian Rollins knew his true identity. As far as was possible, he was safe at Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world, and ready for his next adventures.

He was a staunch ally of "the boy who lived"; and, his father, Albus Dumbledore, suspected that in the long run, Harry Potter would need all the help he could find.

TBC

A/N: it's been awhile since the last update of "What if?", and I sincerely thank you for your encouragement to continue with it! More adventures for Brian and his Gryffindor housemates are on the way…I recommend the HP Lexicon for its thoughtful discussions of the "Fidelius Charm" for those who are interested.


	22. Chapter 22

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairings: ADMM, FFPS, and later, AMPP.

Spoilers: none.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: Preparation begins for exams, and for the end of the school year.

_**Chapter 22/??**_

_**Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus**_

It was a Monday evening study hall, ten weeks before exams that found Hermione Granger well on her way to a nervous breakdown, or at the least an overanxious episode in the opinion of some of her Gryffindor housemates. Ten weeks to exams, and she had already begun to devise study schedules which nearly drove Ron Weasley to distraction.

"You're mental," grumbled Ron as she passed out color-coded sheets of her own creation to each member of the study group. "Exams are ages away!"

"We start June first, right?" Neville asked, sounding very intimidated as he glanced over his study schedule. "That's not really that far off if you consider…"

"Exactly," said Hermione, cutting off whatever comment Weasley had, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. "Brian? Wake up and take a look at this please—you shouldn't be sleeping in the library. What if Professor McGonagall finds you?"

Inwardly smiling at the mention of his favorite teacher (and hoping his mother would find him revising his schoolwork as he always promised), Brian opened his eyes and scooted his chair closer to the table they had staked out in Madam Pince's reference section. "I wasn't sleeping, I was studying," he said serenely, taking up the parchment she had passed to his place.

Harry sputtered his disagreement. "Oh sure you were…studying what? The insides of your eyelids?"

Rollins grinned naughtily. "I was memorizing all the names of the moons of Jupiter, Saturn…" he paused, making sure that Hermione's attention was elsewhere and dropping his voice very low. "…and _your-anus_." It was an easy joke, one often made regarding the mis-pronunciation of the seventh planet of the Solar system.

The brown-haired girl's head did snap up at the snickers erupting from the four Gryffindor boys. "Come on, this is serious! We have to pass exams to go on to our second year. It's not like they are going to…" She didn't finish the thought as someone at a table nearby "shushed" them loudly.

Hermione blushed but was undaunted. "I mean it," she said, lowering her voice and looking at each one sternly, her brows knitted in consternation. "I'd rather like it if we finished Hogwarts school together, alright? Call me crazy if you have to, but that's how I feel."

Neville and Brian looked immediately contrite at that admission (Ron and Harry were paying more attention to their reading, but they had a guilty air about them). "Okay, then," Brian agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're right, Hermione." He put aside his Astronomy notes and heaved a sigh.

"How about we divide the course outlines? You know the profs are about to pile it on, homework and stuff; I remember what my Dad used to do when he was teaching at the University," he suggested, thinking of his foster father and hoping that he and Juliette were doing well after their long trip to the U.K. "I'll take Astronomy and Transfiguration; Nev should take Herbology."

Longbottom blinked, a little surprised until he realized that it was, by far, his best subject. Granger smiled, mollified that at least two of the boys were taking her idea seriously.

"That leaves Charms, Potions, History of Magic, and Defense," she replied crisply. "I'll take the first two…Harry, what do you reckon? Defense for you?"

"Sure," he mumbled, sounding distracted. Potter shrugged noncommittally, leaning closer to the red-haired Weasley, studiously reading what looked like a Charms textbook. Hermione, however, was not fooled in the slightest.

"Quidditch is _not_ an exam topic, Ronald," she said firmly, reaching behind the book to pull out the colorful "Chudley Cannons" fan-guide that he was hiding. His brothers had all chipped in for it as a birthday gift earlier in the month.

Ears pink, he sighed resignedly. "Well, it should be. Madam Hooch has always said so," said Ron, pulling a thick volume from the pile at his elbow and rolling his eyes. "Right. What have I got—History? Brilliant." His sarcasm was completely lost on Miss Granger who was now shifting essay parchments rather merrily.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The next session in the library was far more productive, with each of them making at least some headway in their subject outlines and then passing out copies to the rest of the group. Brian truly surprised Hermione with his familiarity at using the _Geminio_ Duplicating spell.

"That's really handy, Bri," she said earnestly, not noticing the exasperated looks from Harry and Ron. "Think of it as a great timesaver, eh?"

Of course, she was the only other one besides Rollins who became proficient enough to actually make use of it; Neville tried once and his notebook erupted with noxious green smoke which Hermione had to scramble to Banish from the Common Room.

Brian also surprised the study group with his meticulously detailed outline of the moons of the Solar system: none for Mercury and Venus; one for Earth; two for Mars; sixty-three for Jupiter; sixty for Saturn; twenty-seven for Uranus; thirteen for Neptune; and, a moon/co-planet for Pluto.

"Sixty-three?!" exclaimed Harry, making a rude noise and ignoring the glares from students at neighboring tables and study carrels. "You've got to be kidding, and then sixty for Saturn as well? I'll never remember all this…and it's only one subject, isn't it?" He sighed dramatically, and Ron, as if in agreement, groaned as he cast longing glances out the window. It was the first clear blue sky they had seen in weeks.

"Chill out, will you, you big cry-babies," Rollins said, giving a weary smile to let them know he completely sympathized. "They're not all named…" He shook his head, yawning and rising to pack his bookbag (and also casting his own wistful glance at the sunny window). "I'll see you guys at lunch; it's my turn to set up Greenhouse Two for Professor Sprout's classes next week."

Though she would never admit it to the boys, even Hermione felt a pang of envy as the remaining foursome watched their friend heading out the heavy double doors of the library, giving a friendly wave and greeting to the stern librarian as he passed her desk. A little while later, as Neville was visiting the loo, Harry, Ron and Hermione were startled to see Hagrid passing through the library. His hand was shoved tightly in his overcoat pocket, and he had an out-of-place aspect about him.

"Hiya, Hagrid," Ron called out cheerily (glad for the time out from his studies). "What are you doing here?"

"Jus' researchin' summat," he replied, sounding shifty (which immediately piqued their curiosity). "So, how're things?" Hagrid tried a conversational tone.

"We're rather busy prepping for exams," Hermione told him at once, hoping that Harry and Ron would get back to work now that they were at last starting to show some progress in their outlines and revisions. "Otherwise, fine thanks, Hagrid."

The gentle half-giant smiled down at her. He nodded. "I'm sure yeh'll do well. Why don' you lot come down fer tea later this afternoon? I'll bake us some treats!"

Covering up a grimace, she immediately agreed. "That would be great, thank you…I'm sure we could all use the break anyway."

"Yeah," added Harry. "And we can catch you up on everything we found about Nicolas Flamel and the Sorcerer's st…"

Hagrid reddened, looking around to make sure no one had over-heard. "Shhh! Keep it down abou' that, will yeh? Students aren't supposed ta know such things…" He paused. "Jes' come down at tea time, alright? There's things you ought no' be meddlin, yeh hear?" Hagrid shook his head, placing a heavy hand on Ron's shoulder, intending to pat him reassuringly.

"Jes' come down for tea; we'll chat then," he said, trying to smile as he left them.

Ron, wincing and groaning about a huge bruise on his shoulder, got up from the table as soon as Hagrid was well out of sight, and was back moments later carrying an armload of heavy books. Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances, waiting for the red-haired boy to continue.

"Dragons! That's what he was doing in here," he whispered harshly. "'Researchin' summat', my arse…he was looking up tons of stuff about dragons!" Ron pushed an open text toward Harry, who read the page, and turned to the front cover. He shrugged.

"Yeah? So?" Harry sounded totally unconcerned as he looked at the title: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_. "He's always wanted one…told me so when I first met him."

Hermione scoffed, pushing aside the second book, and taking up the next one in the short stack: _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit: Volume 2 (Hazards and Hints Regarding Adult Dragons)_. "They're illegal to keep without at least a dozen different permits, Harry. Hagrid could get into all sorts of trouble if he has a dragon at the school. Someone could be hurt, or worse." Though she kept it to herself for the moment, she wondered what "Volume 1" in such a series might be.

"And it's against Wizarding laws of a million kinds," Ron continued, unaware that he and Hermione were actually taking the same (valid) side of an argument for once. "Breeding of them was outlawed in seventeen-something-something, and it's kinda hard to keep the Muggles from noticing a bloody great fire-breathing lizard in your back garden, you know? I don't know of anybody who's ever tamed a dragon. Humph, and lived to tell about it, anyway."

"Okay, so there aren't wild ones here, are there?"

"Plenty, mate. We've got Welsh greens, Hebridean blacks, and a few other species," said Ron, ticking off the dragons using his fingers, and naming with an expert's precision. "Not as many as you'd find in Europe mind, but still. My brother Charlie tends wild'uns at a conservation preserve in Romania…Mum _constantly_ worries about him; there's another big lot of them someplace over in Wales, now that I think about it."

Harry frowned, deep in thought. Something, some important idea was eluding him; there had to be a link between Rubeus Hagrid, dragons, Nicolas Flamel and the Sorcerer's stone. There just had to be.

"What in the world is Hagrid doing?" Hermione asked, articulating what all three of them were worrying about. "That's what I want to know…"

-/-/-/-/-/-

The Easter holidays, though short, were not nearly as much fun as the Christmas break had been. True to Brian's prediction, the teachers all piled on the homework for their pupils, ranging from longer essays to daily "pop quizzes" and more hands-on exercises. Not only would the end-of-year exams include written essay responses, but there would be individual applied demonstrations as well. Charms, Transfiguration and Potions were the best known among the older students for practical test questions such as Charming matchboxes or Transfiguring small rodents into wallets, one-on-one with the exam proctor.

With about five weeks to go until exams, Brian met with Professor McGonagall in her Transfiguration classroom for his weekly Thursday evening Animagus tutorial. Since January, his grades in her course had been steadily improving and now he was the second best student in his year (behind Hermione Granger) in that particular area of study. Although satisfactory, his lowest subjects were still Defense and Potions. Brian and Neville went back and forth as far as which boy was tops in Herbology, and Rollins had been first in his year for Astronomy since school started in the autumn months.

"Good evening, Professor," he said, smiling faintly as he waited for McGonagall to cast the necessary spells on the classroom door. Once she had ensured their privacy, he moved closer to embrace his mother. Minerva kissed his forehead, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

"Brian, love, are you alright?" she asked, the look on her face tender with concern as they moved to sit at his usual work table, second one from the front, center aisle.

He sighed. "I'm just tired, Mom, really. Nothing major. We've been studying and revising a lot lately." Brian grinned. "Hermione, the guys and I started a study group and divvied up the courses back in, I dunno, March, to get ready for exams in June."

Minerva smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Impressive. An early start then? Good for you."

Brian couldn't help chuckling. "It was Hermione's idea. She badgered the hell, I mean _heck_, out of us to get a move on. Very convincing girl."

McGonagall's eyebrows went slightly higher, but she smiled. "You could do far worse than Miss Granger in finding a study partner, lad." She settled herself more comfortably on the high student seat, and couldn't help being amused as she recalled when Albus had once commented how _uncomfortable_ they were.

"Yes, ma'am. She was right, of course. It helps with the whole group too," he admitted.

"For which subjects are you responsible? Astronomy, I would suspect," asked Minerva.

Try as he might to stop it, a blush of pleasure rose on his cheeks, reminding her yet again of his father. It was uncanny, and utterly adorable. "Yes, I am outlining Astronomy and Transfiguration; Hermione's got Potions and Charms; Ron's got History of Magic; Harry's got Defense; and, Neville's got Herbology. It's his best anyway."

She nodded approvingly, checking the antique timepiece on her teaching desk at the front of the room. "Nearly half seven. Here now, why don't we skip the tutorial for tonight, and do something else, hm? You look as if you could use the respite from all your demanding studies."

Brian looked hesitant, not wanting to disappoint her. "I'm okay, Mom, I'll…"

"Ah ah ah. Mother knows best, child," she told him, waggling the fingers of one hand slightly to gently refute his protests. Minerva beamed at him, reaching to pinch his nose, a playful twinkle coming to her eye as an interesting idea struck. "You can go now to the Headmaster's office, Mr. Rollins. I shall meet you there, agreed?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Heaving a tired sigh, Albus Dumbledore pushed back from his desk, searching around the piles of parchments for something to distract him. He'd been reading depositions since returning to his office from dinner (and had been reading them most of the afternoon, in fact), preparing for the following day's Wizengamot session. Albus was about to pull open one or two drawers, hoping to rummage around and find a Honeyduke's chocolate bar, when he felt the tingle of the gargoyle Charm; a visitor was on their way up, and would soon be knocking on the Headmaster's door. He sincerely hoped it would be a pleasant distraction.

He couldn't hide his pleased smile when he saw that it was Brian, and he sat back in his ornate chair, beaming as the boy made his way to the other side of the desk.

"What a delightful surprise, Mr. Rollins!" Albus greeted him warmly. "How may I help you, my boy?"

Brian stood, clasping his hands behind his back and keeping his expression very neutral; he couldn't disguise, however, the twinkle of mischief in his big, blue eyes.

"Good evening, Headmaster," he said politely. "Professor McGonagall sent me to see you straight-away, sir."

Albus' eyebrows rose at that, and his smile was reduced by about half when a frisson of uncharacteristic worry grabbed at him. "Did she now? On which matter, may I ask?" He looked at the young Gryffindor over the rims of his spectacles, wondering if he was expected to give a stern lecture or not.

Brian shrugged, taking the chair opposite Dumbledore who had graciously indicated that he should sit. "I'm sure I don't know, sir. We met for our weekly tutorial; er, we've moved now to the Transfiguration classroom in case we need the extra space, and then she asked me to meet her here; I suspect she wishes to hold a conference for the three of us regarding my training."

If his father had been worried, that soon faded as the Headmaster felt a tickle of amusement coming from Brian. The boy twisted his Charmed claddagh ring with his thumb in an unconscious gesture, but he seemed for the most part, unconcerned about being sent down to the Principal's office, so to speak.

"Ah, faculty conferences are sometimes expected, my boy," Albus said, his eyes sparkling as he noticed a few of the portraits were listening in. "Just to make sure our students are progressing as they should."

"Yes, sir," Brian responded, catching Dumbledore's subtle nod toward the wall of portraits nearby; for reasons he could not explain, the depiction of Dilys Derwent was Rollins' favorite. He liked the magical image of the former Hogwarts Headmistress who always seemed to be knitting or tatting or something similar. The elderly witch seemed a warm, grandmotherly type.

A door above them creaked open, and out stepped the Transfiguration Mistress, smiling over the brass spiral staircase as she looked down from the Headmaster's private suite.

"Up here, gentlemen," she called. "Won't you join me, please?" Minerva turned and went back in, leaving the door slightly ajar and leaving Brian and Albus to shrug at each other.

As they headed up to the suite, treading easily up the narrow stairs, Brian turned slightly to speak to Albus. "I was ordered to set aside my homework for the evening, sir," he whispered conspiratorially. "It was very unusual." Albus only chuckled in reply.

Minerva met them in the foyer, and directed them both to hang their outer robes on the Charmed coat-hooks, and then to follow her to the sitting area. Before they sat, she kissed each one on the cheek, made sure they were seated comfortably, and then called the Headmaster's House-elf as she sat in the poufy armchair, resting her feet on the matching pale green ottoman. Albus leaned to put one arm about Brian's shoulders, squeezing him affectionately.

"Topher!" The skinny elf popped in a heartbeat later, bowing low and grinning broadly to see the family seated together. He was hopelessly romantic when it came to domestic scenes such as this, even for a House-elf; Topher had known Albus, Minerva and Brian for many years.

"How may I serve, Professor Minerva?" he asked politely. His pale bluish skin was contrasted against the knotted white tea towel he wore.

"A cold pitcher of milk, please, three glasses, and the package of biscuits that you and I saved," she requested, giving a wink to the two wizards at her side. Topher bowed again, snapping himself away immediately.

"So, Professor McGonagall," Albus began, crossing his legs as he settled into the deep upholstery. "Mr. Rollins tells me that you have requested a private conference."

"Indeed I did, darling. You two men are over-worked these days, and I decided that we needed a wee family quiet time, just to visit for awhile," she explained.

Brian and Albus looked at each other, laughing. "What a great idea, Mom!" The youngster laughed even more loudly when a silver serving-tray appeared on the low table before them. Sure enough, a pitcher of milk, three short glasses and an unopened package of Oreos rested upon it. "Frank and Juliet must have sent these, didn't they?"

Minerva poured milk in each of the glasses, beaming at her son's reaction to the surprise. "Yes, they did; apparently these are one of your favorite sweets back home in Maine, but they are not available over here."

Albus had picked up one of the black-and-white cookies, turning it over as he studied it. He sniffed too, the Potions Master part of his brain getting involved in the investigation process. "Interesting. O-R-E-O?"

"Milk's favorite cookie, Dad. Here, try it like this," Brian said as he demonstrated dunking the Oreo in the glass, and munching happily as a little bit of milk dripped on his chin (Minerva tutted softly, Levitating a cloth napkin towards him). "It's messy but really really good this way!"

As the three of them sat, cozy in front of the fireplace, chatting and eating a few Oreos (Brian even demonstrated the alternate "two-cookie-twist-apart" technique which Albus seemed to prefer as it was easier to get to the sweet cream-filling), Minerva realized that a quiet, restful evening was beneficial to her as well. It was nice to recharge once in a while and her heart was filled with love for these two wizards, their brilliant blue eyes twinkling in unison at her. Later, it got closer to nine o'clock, and both parents sent Brian off to his bed in Gryffindor Tower with a hug and a kiss, and a promise that he would get right to sleep. It had, indeed, been one of Professor McGonagall's better ideas.

-/-/-/-/-/-

That same evening, well after dark, elsewhere on the castle's grounds…

"We know about the Sorcerer's stone, Hagrid!" the three young Gryffindors said as he opened the door to his rough-hewn hut.

"And we think Snape is trying to steal it," Harry added, following Ron and Hermione in to sit with Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys and Grounds.

Hagrid rolled his eyes. "You're not still on abou' tha', are yeh? Professor Snape is one of the teachers protecting the stone; he's not abou' tah steal it." While they looked on, he tended something in the cauldron above his cooking hearth. It was blistering hot in the tiny hut; they also noticed that he was wearing a ridiculous floral patterned apron and matching oven mitts.

"Can't we open a window or something?" Ron complained, shrugging out of his cloak and sweater. "It's boiling in this place."

"Nope," was the clipped reply. "Waste o' bloody time, if yeh ask me. T'stone's surrounded by all sorts o' spells an' enchantmen's, and ain't nobody gonna get past Fluffy…only me and Dumbledore knows how…" Pulling the oven mitts snug first, Hagrid gingerly carried a large object from the cooking pot to the table, wincing every step of the way at the heat emanating from it.

Completely forgetting how hot it was, Ron looked on in amazement, staring at the greeny-black opalescent object that rested on the table. "I know what that is! But Hagrid, how'd you get one?"

The egg, a dragon's egg to be exact, began to rattle and crack as the four of them stood around it. "I won it, off a stranger down at the pub," replied Hagrid, sounding pleased. "Seemed quite glad to be rid of it, now that I think on it…"

His voice trailed off suddenly because the egg gave a great heave and out struggled a greenish-brown, slimy and wobbly little dragon.

Harry and Hermione were struck dumb, but Ron laughed. "Blimey! That's a Norwegian Ridgeback; my brother Charlie works with them over in Romania…"

Hagrid grew teary-eyed as he watched the baby dragon trying to stand, balancing itself on mucky wings. "Oh, isn't he beautiful? Hello, Norbert," he cooed, tickling the dragon under it's chin. Norbert hiccoughed and a few sparks came out of his mouth as he sat there contentedly in the center of the table, looking around at his new home.

"Norbert?" Hermione asked, a giggle in her voice.

"Well sure, he's gotta have a name, dunnee?" Hagrid happened to glance up as he looked at the three youngsters, beaming with pride at his new baby dragon hatchling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blonde-headed boy, peering in. "Hey! Who's that?"

Harry caught a glimpse as the figure ran off, racing back toward the castle. "Malfoy."

"Manky git," Ron growled, pulling on his sweater and cloak.

Momentarily deflated, Hagrid sighed. "Oh dear." Worry nicked and tickled at the back of his mind.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Up in the Headmaster's private suite, Albus and Minerva had gotten dressed for bed, and were relaxing in the sitting area, each reading something light, with their stocking-clad feet resting on a shared hassock. From time to time, Albus would chuckle at a sentence or two he'd just read, and reached to tickle Minerva's foot with his slender toes.

Feeling warm and content, McGonagall was at that precise moment contemplating a lovely snuggle in bed with her husband, when the portrait, this one of a young farm girl, strode into the landscape, asking for her attention.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Madam Professor," she said politely. "Mr. Filch has delivered four students to your classroom. They were out after curfew."

Minerva sighed heavily. "Thank you, Deirdre. I will be there shortly." She shook her head as the fair-skinned portrait girl took her leave. Albus looked up from his book, eyes twinkling at his beloved Deputy; instead of her usual green and black velvet teaching robes, she wore a green tartan dressing gown over her silk night-shirt.

"Four might be a record this school year," he commented. "Shall I accompany you, my dear?"

"Not necessary, but thank you," she replied, leaning down to kiss him. Minerva groaned softly when he deepened the kiss, glad for his strong hand at her waist as her knees grew weak. With an effort of will, she stood, caressing his cheek. "Mmm…you might warm my side of the bed though, and I could return the favor. I'll be back as quickly as I can, Albus."

Arriving at the Transfiguration classroom, she let her frustration wax as she saw who it was waiting quietly by her teaching desk, not at all surprised to see the foursome of Potter, Weasley, Granger and Malfoy.

"Nothing, I repeat, nothing gives students to walk about the castle at night, and certainly not first-years," she lectured, her lips pressed into a thin, stern line. Minerva let her glare fall upon each of them. "Therefore, as punishment, fifty points will be taken from your Houses…"

Harry couldn't stop himself. "Fifty?!" he protested.

McGonagall's emerald eyes hardened. "Each. And to ensure that it does not happen again, all four of you will serve detention on a night of my choosing…I assure you that it will be severe."

Draco cast a smirking glance at the three Gryffindor students, standing a few paces to his left. "Excuse me, Professor," he said obsequiously, in what he probably considered to be a respectful tone. "Perhaps I heard you wrong. I thought you said 'the four of us'…"

Minerva nodded curtly, tamping down the not-entirely irrational desire to rail at the little Slytherin snake just for being snotty. "No, you heard me correctly. You see, as honorable as your intentions were, you too were out of bed after curfew. You will join your classmates in detention, Mr. Malfoy."

She waited as the students realized that they were summarily dismissed from her presence, and left the classroom, quite a bit more subdued than they had been just ten minutes prior. With a weary sigh, she called for her House-elf as she lowered herself into the big wooden chair.

"How may I serve, Professor Minerva?" he asked when he appeared at her side, Apparating with an almost silent "pop".

"Topher, please go up to the Gryffindor dormitory," she said softly, now tamping down a mild sense of guilt. "And check that Brian is asleep. I would prefer that none of the students sees you…I'll remain here."

Topher nodded and was gone instantly. She barely had time to sit back before he returned, a slight smile on his lips.

"Young Mister Brian is sound asleep, snugly cuddled with his little cat, Professor," reported the elf. "Two more boys arrived when I was there, and prepared themselves for bed, but they did not see me, as you requested."

Minerva returned his smile, rising to return to her quarters and to her dearest husband. "I do appreciate your help, Topher, thank you."

He bowed slightly. "Good night, Professor Minerva. Sweet dreams." Topher Disapparated without a sound, heading back to his own tiny bed.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairings: ADMM, FFPS, and later, AMPP.

Spoilers: none.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: Exams are rapidly approaching, and Gryffindor is in last place for the House Cup.

_**Chapter 23/??**_

_**Hic abundant leones et hic sunt serpentes**_

Next morning, Brian rose early, showered and dressed for classes, feeling better rested than he had in weeks. Seamus, Dean and Neville greeted him when they met up in the Common Room, planning to walk together, as they usually did, downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron and Harry were uncharacteristically quiet, almost sullen, but this was chalked up to "burn out" from so much studying. It was, after all, a mere three weeks to go until the end-of-year exams.

There was a loud buzz of speculation outside the Great Hall, where four large enchanted hourglasses held the rubies, which represented the tally of House points, and some of it was growing rather nasty. Gryffindor's hourglass had lost a lot of points overnight, and this meant that the scarlet and gold lions were in last place, with no chance at winning the House cup. Slytherin had won, seven years running, and even students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were dishing out the abuse.

More grumbling followed the group of first-year students as Harry and Ron joined their housemates at the long wooden table. Potter, the hero of the last two Quidditch matches; the valiant Seeker who had reliably caught the Golden Snitch, had lost all of those ruby-red points. He and a couple of idiot first-year friends of his.

"What's up, guys?" Brian finally asked, looking right at Harry and Ron seated across from him, both of whom seemed pale and sickly. Rollins' appetite was wholly unaffected, and he scooped porridge and raisins into his bowl alongside the peanut buttered-toast, strips of bacon and glass of chilled pumpkin juice. Friday would see them with Double Potions class (alongside Slytherin) followed by a free afternoon. They'd planned to quiz each other in the library on Charms, Spells, and Potions' ingredients in their study hall before and after dinner.

"Nice going, Potty," a passing Hufflepuff Fourth-year girl hissed at them. "Stupid, useless firsties!" Her friend scowled in agreement.

Neville's eyes went wide with fear then; a lot of hostility was being directed toward their section of the Gryffindor table. "Hermione, what's happened?" he asked quietly, noting the young witch's blush; she seemed to be trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"We were caught out after curfew last night," she answered in a flat voice, taking a piece of dry toast to nibble listlessly. "I don't know what we were thinking." The girl was pasty-faced, almost nauseated at the thought of breakfast.

"Okay, so? Come on then, let's hear what's so horrible boys and girl," Brian prompted the three of them as he finished his bowl of porridge, putting together that it had been Hermione, Ron and Harry who had lost the Gryffindor points (on the way in to breakfast, he had also noticed that Slytherin had lost points overnight, and he wondered who was the culprit).

"We had to see Hagrid, it was pretty important stuff, of course," Ron whispered, leaning in so that the others did as well. "Malfoy was nosing around and…"

"Filchy dragged the four of us in to see Professor McGonagall. She was _beyond_ displeased last night, believe me," Harry finished. "We'll have detention at some point too." He groaned, overhearing about nine more comments from nearby.

Brian glanced at Seamus, Dean and Neville, reaching an unspoken agreement to stand by their three friends, no matter the cost. Finnegan and Thomas had joined the study group recently, having found themselves altogether overwhelmed with just the pair of them trying to struggle through such a mountain of material for exams.

"Never mind those morons, you hear me…" he said, trying to cheer them up. "I can't think of anyone who hasn't lost House points while at school. Besides, don't Fred and George have practically their own _entire_ file cabinet in old Argus' office? They've lost tons of points over the years, and pretty much everybody likes them; they're always good for a laugh." He grinned at this, thinking of his detentions and points lost since the fall months.

Ron chuckled sardonically, stabbing at a sausage with his fork, and eating it in two bites. "Yeah, but they never lost that many in one go." He exhaled noisily. "Thanks, mates. This end of year is gonna suck, no doubt about it. Just zap me now, will you, and be done with it? I'll go live in a cave somewhere…maybe Mum and Dad can visit from time to time and bring me Quidditch scores."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Double Potions with Slytherin was miserable on the best of days, and this particular Friday was no exception. Even though Malfoy, too, had lost points for his house, he spent most of the morning making snide comments about Harry, Ron and Hermione. True to form by favoring the students in his own house, Professor Snape ignored this behavior, even subtly condoned it, but was quick to admonish any Gryffindor who stepped out of line.

"Pay attention, you dunderheads!" he sneered in a low and silky voice, looking directly across the gloomy dungeon classroom at Potter and Weasley when he said this. "Devil's Snare is not an innocuous plant, and these details which you have heretofore failed to grasp may save your pointless lives someday."

Snape paused, allowing Draco and his thick-necked cronies time to smirk, all of them hoping that at least one Gryffindor witch or wizard would meet an untimely end due to a plant; the nastier, the better.

"Mr. Rollins!" he thundered suddenly. Brian had just scooted the cauldron he shared with Neville by about three centimeters to his left, centering it on their workbench for when they actually got started brewing in class that morning.

"Yes, sir?" Brian saw no need to be nervous, but was watchful as the Potions Master slowly rounded on him. Longbottom seemed scarcely able to breathe, made edgy by the close proximity of Professor Snape.

The students all fell silent, some with dread and others with abject glee at what was coming next. More often than not, Neville was the one who got humiliated in Potions class; it would be interesting to see how Snape dealt with the sole American at Hogwarts (whom he usually merely ignored; Brian's work in Potions was not noteworthy really, "middle-of-the-pack", and he was rather content to leave it that way). Even Hermione, who was quite good at Potions, was holding her breath, not sure if she should raise her hand to divert the questioning.

"Devil's Snare is occasionally mistaken for another plant by those foolish enough to be inattentive; name and describe that plant for me now," he demanded softly, his eyes glittering like obsidian.

Brian cleared his throat and calmly stood at his place (it had always been his habit to stand when he answered in class, and no one had admonished him for doing so; his schoolmates had long grown accustomed). "Sir, the immature Devil's Snare may be mistaken for the Flitterbloom plant which is used primarily as a decorative potted botanical feature. It is particularly dangerous in a darkened room or other such environment, which is favored for growth of the Devil's Snare tendrils." He knew more from his recent reading but judged that to be sufficient for his teacher.

Severus grunted a mild acknowledgement, giving Brian a very slight nod. "You may sit down, Mr. Rollins. That is an acceptable answer," he commented begrudgingly. "Two points to Gryffindor."

Hermione, Ron and Neville (and at least a dozen others) all put their heads down behind their cauldrons and books, hiding smiles, but Draco couldn't resist an opportunity to jab. Once Snape had swept to the podium at the front of the classroom, his teaching robes billowing dramatically behind him, he waved his hand at the colored chalk to continue the written instructions for the day. Malfoy, seeing an opening when the Potions Master's back was turned, gave in to the urge to sneer at Harry.

"Only a hundred forty eight points to go now, to catch up, Scar-head," he said, not bothering to lower his tone. "Nice one, Rollins; way to go, kid." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dutifully, ever faithful to their master's voice.

"Shut it, Malfoy, you stinking piece of…" Harry snarled, not reacting to the elbow in the ribs Hermione had given him. She nervously watched as Snape continued to write on the board, her eagle-feather quill scritching and scratching across the page in her hard-back composition book. Granger obsessively copied down nearly every word a teacher wrote or spoke in class regarding their magical training.

His eyes flashing wickedly, Brian turned toward Draco and his two cauldron-partners, making sure his housemates could hear: "Oh darling," he cooed, licking his lips. "You look so delicious today, as always, in your black and snakey-silvery-green robes. Kiss me!" Rollins puckered, and moved as if to stand to be nearer to the blonde Slytherin first year.

Ron and the rest had to cover their mouths to stifle their snickers that threatened to erupt; it was extremely funny when Brian drawled theatrically like that. Malfoy, on the other hand, was stunned speechless, his face red with anger and embarrassment. A momentary look of horror crept into his eyes, and even Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Brian glanced over at Neville, giving a subtle shake of his head and catching a broad grin from Dean Thomas.

Not wanting to let Draco off the hook yet, Brian sighed with feigned longing, and blew him a kiss. "I love you, Draco. Truly, madly, deeply," he whispered, inwardly chuckling at the priceless look of fear on Malfoy's face. Harry could not have been more cheered if he'd won the _Daily Prophet's_ weekly sweepstakes draw.

-/-/-/-/-/-

After lunch, and her quickly scribbled note to them, Brian and Neville arranged to meet with Professor Sprout outside the Great Hall, and then go on from there with her to the gardens for a few hours. She had received shipments that very morning of young seedling Fanged Geraniums, Flutterby bushes, and others that needed transplanting into larger pots to replenish her teaching stocks (the Shipping Charms and Root-protection media would only last about a day). The two Gryffindor boys waited, at her request, just outside the main doors while she spoke quietly to Professor Flitwick and Headmaster Dumbledore at the Staff table.

"Nice loser friends you've got in your House, Rollins," muttered Gregory Goyle as he passed by Brian. Vincent Crabbe trod deliberately on Neville's foot as they walked out of the Great Hall.

"Too bad they can't all be flouncy gardeners like you pretty little lads, eh?" added Crabbe, chortling softly to see Longbottom wince at the pain.

"Any Herbologist is worth twelve of you, Crabbe," Neville retorted, resisting the urge to favor his left foot that was most certainly bruised. "Fat bastard."

"Move along, gorgeous; you're just not my type of knuckle-draggers. I'm keeping myself for that delicious boss of yours," said Brian, stepping closer to the hulking pair, not bothering to lower his voice; several Ravenclaw girls giggled and pointed when they saw it was Goyle he was speaking about. This angered the huge Slytherin first-year, and his fists clenched, rising to waist height. Rollins noticed immediately the boy's aggressive posture.

"Go ahead and take the first swing at me, my lovely Greggy, you saucy flirt," Brian growled, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his housemate. Goyle's eyes widened in disbelief that Rollins and Longbottom might actually fight with them there in the Great Hall entryway (most of the students that he and Crabbe bullied were cowering in seconds). "Just make sure it's a really, really good one."

Brian didn't raise his hands, or even clench his fists, but he shifted his stance somewhat, not backing down; Neville squared his jaw and followed suit.

Toe to toe, and nose to nose, the four boys stared hard at each other, ignoring the titters and comments from students that had gathered around them. Brian overheard a few older students—he thought one might have been George Weasley, placing wagers on the outcome…something to the effect of "I bet the Yank fights dirty" nearly made Rollins smile. It didn't happen very often, but this potential inter-House brawl looked to be an interesting afternoon diversion.

"Two on two, don't you like a fair fight, fellas?" asked Brian, head-faking a lunge at Crabbe, who flinched back, startled, raising his hands as if to strike. It was an incongruous image since both of the Slytherins were rather big for their ages, and a quickly stifled shriek was heard nearby.

Just then, Snape and Sprout hurried over, pushing their way through spectators, and the first thing both of them noticed was that Crabbe and Goyle were looming over Brian and Neville.

"What's going on here, Mr. Crabbe?" Professor Sprout demanded, worried for the safety of her two young student assistants. "Speak up, Goyle!"

At the same time, Snape bellowed: "Idiots!" He grabbed at collars, pulling Crabbe and Goyle roughly aside. "Regardless of what you learned in America, Mr. Rollins, fighting is not condoned at Hogwarts for any reason if you recall from last autumn. We consider ourselves much more civilized here."

"Yes, sir," said Brian placidly, looking up at the Head of Slytherin House. "Thank you for reminding me, Professor." Out of Snape's line of sight, he mouthed "_chicken_-_shits_" to Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom could only scowl and glare at him.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"I don't care, Hermione," Brian said, his voice soft but his intent was unmistakable. "They _are_ cowardly chicken-shits, both of them, and Draco too, and I'm not going to put up with it anymore. I've had enough."

"But, you'll get into all…" she protested, tossing up both hands in a gesture of dismay as her voice rose. A few people at nearby tables were starting to give them irritated glances.

Rollins held up one finger to his lips, a tiny smile quirking his mouth. "I'm not looking to borrow trouble from the House of Salazar Slytherin, but if it finds me, well then…what can I say?" He shrugged and then shifted another parchment in the pile on the table.

Ron leaned in closer from his side of the bench. "George said you and Nev really were about to get into a fight with those two. That's brilliant!" Weasley did little to hide his admiration. "In front of dozens of witnesses as well!"

Brian shook his head, still smiling, and Neville blushed furiously. "No, no fight, I simply invited them to start something if they chose to, that's all. Plenty of teachers were about, and students, so yeah, too many witnesses, I guess."

"They're still as mean as snakes, Brian," Neville said quietly. "And Professor Snape isn't exactly running for teacher of the year." It was Longbottom's involvement that had surprised Hermione even more; meek and mild Neville was not known for defending himself, against anyone. Frequent Owl Posts from his no-nonsense grandmother had proven that.

Harry snickered. "Too bloody true he's not."

The group of them made quite a lot of progress in Charms and Defense that afternoon using the outlines which Hermione and Harry, respectively, had devised. Neville and Brian had arrived about an hour late—Professor Sprout sent them on to study hall shortly after they had transplanted the newly arrived seedlings, with the encouragement that they were doing very well. She smiled warmly at them as they left, each with a cheery wave and a quick Cleaning Charm for the nearly matching soil smudges on their shirtfronts.

Hermione was just about to call a tea-break after four (Ron was yawning and moaning, and it was growing contagious, moving like a wildfire through all seven of them) when a tiny Scops school owl fluttered in, dropping two envelopes on their long table before immediately fluttering out again; it was rare that an owl delivered Post to the library. Madam Pince was fastidious in her care taking of the campus facility, and always had been.

"Oh, it's from the Headmaster," she commented as she retrieved them (being the closest), noticing the Hogwarts seal on each one. The first was addressed to "Brian Rollins" and the second, to "Neville Longbottom". Brian just shrugged, not recognizing the neat calligraphy since he didn't know his father's handwriting, but he slipped open the seal with his thumb.

"Yep," he said, raising one eyebrow. "Professor Dumbledore asks if I will meet him in his office for tea at 4:20."

Neville gulped audibly. "Me too." He checked the big grandfather's clock at the entrance to the reference section; they had ten minutes.

Their tablemates fell silent, not sure what to make of this development; none of them had ever been summoned to meet with the Headmaster before. It was far more common for them to see Professor McGonagall, as she was their Head of House and the school's Deputy Headmistress.

Brian shrugged as he stood, gathering up his parchments and book bag. He grinned and gave Hermione a wink. "Relax! I'm sure it's not anything scary, you guys."

Neville was not nearly as certain, but he put on a brave face. "Yeah, erm…it's probably about Professor Sprout's projects and all those plants that were delivered today for her teaching supplies…things like that."

"Okay then, see you in the Common Room later?" asked Harry, looking from Brian and Neville to the rest of the study group (all of whom were trying not to appear too worried).

"Sure—see you!" Brian agreed at once, shouldering his backpack and following Neville through the narrow aisle between tables.

When the two were out of earshot, Hermione shook her head. "It's about their almost-fight with Crabbe and Goyle earlier today, I'm sure of it."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"Ah, excellent! Come in, gentlemen, come in," said Albus, greeting the pair at the door. He gestured to a small table set for three, with a silver tea service resting upon a long, white tablecloth. A platter of assorted half-sandwiches, and a smaller one of baked glazed lemon-squares was off to one side. "Do sit down, please. I don't know about you, but tea-time could not come quickly enough today."

Dumbledore smiled, noting how nervous Neville seemed in his presence. Brian, on the other hand, was completely at ease. It was reasonable after all as Neville had never even been to the Headmaster's office before.

"Yes, sir," Neville replied quietly as he was seated. "Thank you."

Rollins grinned broadly at his father when he saw the sandwiches. "Thanks very much, Professor. I think the boss was just about to call a break so your timing is awesome, sir." He paused, noticing Albus' questioning raised eyebrow. "Hermione—she's the boss."

Albus chuckled at his son's delighted expression, giving the boy a wink. "Good thing too. Shall I pour?" He held the Charmed porcelain teapot, nodding toward Neville. "How do you take your tea?"

Longbottom blinked, tearing himself away from looking at the interesting books and magical objects in the cases and on the shelves nearby, and giving Dumbledore a shy smile. "Milk and sugar, thank you."

Albus served the boys their tea first (Brian took his black, as usual, and exactly like Minerva did), and then prepared a cup for himself—also with milk and sugar, before gesturing to the sandwiches and sweets. "Tuck in, lads; growing boys need their fuel for school…as the Muggles like to say."

The three wizards ate in comfortable silence for a little while, before Albus got to the point of the "meeting". He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, folding it neatly by his empty plate.

"So, gentlemen, how are your end of year exam preparations going?" he asked, his eyes twinkling kindly at the two young Gryffindors.

Brian's mouth was full of chicken salad sandwich at that very moment, so it was Neville who replied. "Rather well, I think, sir. Hermione got us organized into a study group five or six weeks ago, and we each took a course outline…er, that was Brian's idea actually." After doing something as ordinary as afternoon tea and sandwiches, Neville didn't seem quite as intimidated by the legendary powerful wizard. In the back of his mind, Brian admired the way his father was able to relate to anyone, no matter his or her station in life.

"Indeed? Which course are you preparing for your study partners?" Albus sat back a little from the table, crossing his legs to be more comfortable in the high-backed chair.

Neville blushed modestly, satisfaction in his voice. "Herbology, sir. It's my best area."

Albus chuckled lightly. "Well done. And you, Mr. Rollins?" He already knew the answer, but needed to continue the minor pretense.

Brian grinned. "Transfiguration, sir, and Astronomy. I think I'm ready for the written exams…it's the practical demonstrations I need to work on."

"I hear that often from our students, so you are certainly in august company, my boy," Dumbledore commented. After a few moments thoughtful pause, he leaned forward, looking intently at both youngsters, his demeanor becoming more serious. "I understand from Professor Sprout that there was nearly an altercation after lunch today." He didn't accuse, simply left plenty of room for Neville and Brian to explain their side to him (he'd already left after lunch through the staff doors near the raised dais).

Neville cleared his throat, raising his eyes to meet the Headmaster's serene gaze. "Gryffindor lost a lot of points last night, sir, and a few of the Slytherins wouldn't leave it alone. They went on and on about us being in last place, and the House Cup. Things like that."

"I see," Albus said neutrally, letting Neville continue at his own pace.

"It started in Potions, really…no sir, not a fight, but we had to defend the other…" Neville's voice trailed off guiltily. He was already thinking ahead to what his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom would have to say when and if she heard about it. She was stern on her "good" days.

"Words were exchanged, Professor, regarding Harry, Ron and Hermione being out after curfew," Brian added. "Two of the fellows wanted to continue the discussion after lunch, apparently."

"Crabbe and Goyle?" asked Albus, though he was already aware of most of the incidents that had taken place.

"Yes sir, it was they," Brian answered. "And Draco during Double Potions, of course." Albus nodded; he knew full well of the animosity between Potter and Malfoy.

"I completely understand the desire to defend the honor of your house-mates," said the Headmaster. "As I did the same in my student days as a Gryffindor, but I suggest a bit of caution where your potential enemies are concerned. I might even recommend choosing your battles carefully while you are here, and focusing more of your energy on your studies." He quirked a slight smile at that, noticing that both boys were keeping their reactions at a minimum, out of respect for the esteemed wizard's position; Brian, on the other hand, flinched almost imperceptibly, his magic crackling as he subdued his temper.

Albus paused again, resting both elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him. "I realize that you are first years, and it is not part of your usual curriculum, but what have you learned about Death Eaters? Mr. Rollins, do you know that name?"

"No sir, honestly, I don't." He shook his head, finishing his tea and setting the saucer aside.

"That's what the followers of Voldemort call themselves," Neville said very softly. His expression grew sad but there were no tears in his eyes. "And all of them practice Dark magic pretty much on a daily basis, if you ask me. Er, at least that's what my Gran has always said, Professor."

"I'm not surprised, Brian, that you have not heard of them," Albus commented. "Growing up in America as you did, and in a Muggle household…"

"Sir, there have been rumors for ages about their Dads," interrupted Neville. "Being Death Eaters, I mean—Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy."

"I have long suspected the same, young man, but it is a suspicion without proof," Dumbledore replied, his voice gentle. Neville nodded grimly. "We should be mindful that not all Death Eaters are in Slytherin; the other three houses are well-represented, I'm afraid. And do keep in mind that not all Slytherin witches and wizards are predisposed to darkness."

Brian didn't understand all that was remaining unspoken between them, but he trusted his father unconditionally. "Professor? I know I'm behind the curve on this one, so to speak, but if Voldemort and his Death Eaters are the bad guys…who are the good guys?"

Longbottom sat up straighter, and Albus deferred to him at once to answer his classmate's question. "The Aurors are the good guys, Brian," he said, a touch of pride clear in his tone. "And the Order of the Phoenix. My parents were both."

The three sat without speaking for several minutes, each one lost in thought, until the miniature grandfather's clock on the Headmaster's desk chimed the hour. Fawkes, who had been sleeping the entire time on his perch nearby, woke momentarily, trilled a few soft, soothing notes, and went back to sleep, tucking his head under one wing.

"Thank you, my old friend," Albus murmured to the handsome phoenix, rising to his feet. Brian and Neville politely did the same. "And, thank you gentlemen, for joining me on such short notice." He held out a hand to shake with both young wizards.

"You're welcome, sir," Neville replied, smiling shyly again. "I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us about…you know."

"Indeed I do," Albus said, his eyes twinkling. He reached up to gently squeeze Longbottom's shoulder. "I'm sure that Frank and Alice would be proud to know that you are here, my boy, and following in their Gryffindor footsteps."

Neville nodded, turning to leave; Albus gestured discretely that Brian should stay. "Mr. Rollins, just a moment, if you would please? There is another matter I would like to discuss."

Dumbledore waited while Neville gathered up his book bag, and headed down the gargoyle spiral staircase. He turned and went through a narrow door near one of the large glass-framed cabinets, and Brian followed, realizing that he'd never been in this side-room before. It was the Headmaster's private library.

Closing the door behind them, Albus waved a hand to light four sconces nearby, and cast several Charms on the room to secure it further. Then he wrapped his arms around Brian, embracing his son.

"Your mother's temper. You do come by that quite honestly, you know," he said, chuckling and placing a light kiss on the boy's forehead. When he let go, Albus stepped to a shelf, rummaging around as he looked for something stored there.

Brian shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know what came over me this morning, and um, after lunch too—I just knew I'd heard enough from those guys." He paused, looking around at the very old volumes, one resting open on a chest-high reading table. "Oh, there aren't any portraits in here. Neat!"

It was Albus' turn to shrug. "Only one," he said, pointing to an empty frame. "Dilys is here if I need her counsel and I call for her, but otherwise, yes, it's much more secluded." Dumbledore dusted off a mahogany frame, and placed the photograph on the reading table.

Rollins leaned over, fascinated as ever by the moving photographs of the Wizarding world, and this one was no different. It was a group portrait, at least a dozen witches and wizards in sepia-hued tones. Brian immediately recognized his parents as he scanned the faces.

"There are you and Mom," he said, tracing his finger on the glass. He smiled at their younger selves. "And Harry's Dad—can't miss the resemblance there, can you?"

"Indeed. Harry's mother, Lily, is just there," Albus replied, his voice low as he remembered the day that this photograph was taken: some of the members were dead two weeks later, killed in battle. "We, your mother and I gathered a group of our most trusted allies and friends in the fight against Voldemort back in the 1970s. We call it the 'Order of the Phoenix'. You may recognize some of the others, my boy."

"Hagrid and Uncle Alastor," Brian commented. "Neither of them are too tricky to spot…Dad, do you have a brother?"

"Aberforth, yes," said Albus with a grin. He looked at Brian over the tops of his spectacles, raising both eyebrows in amusement. "We three have the same eyes, according to your Mum!"

Brian laughed, returning to his study of the picture. "Is this Ron's mother?" Albus nodded affirmatively. "I would like to meet her; she made me a sweater at Christmas, and I've only been able to thank her by Owl."

"I'm sure at some point that you will meet all of the Weasleys," Dumbledore said, pointing out Molly Weasley and three wizards next to her in the group. "Molly, her husband Arthur, and two of your friend Ronald's older brothers—Bill and Charlie. And here, are Neville's parents—Frank and Alice."

Brian's smile faded. "Are they dead?"

Albus sighed heavily as he Summoned a pair of tall chairs, one for himself and one for Brian. "No, not dead. That, I believe, would be a kinder fate for them. Frank and Alice Longbottom are in St. Mungo's Hospital, and have been for a very long time." His son waited patiently for him to continue, great compassion written all over his face.

"Neville would not want others to know this, so I would ask that we continue to respect his privacy, Brian," Albus began. "He may or may not share the story of his parents, in his own time."

"Yes, sir. I understand that."

"They were tortured by at least three Death Eaters, probably more, who used the _Cruciatus_ curse, repeatedly," continued Albus. "And it drove them insane. Neville visits them during the holidays, with his grandmother and Great Uncle Algie. They do not recognize their only son, at all. I would not like to imagine that kind of pain." He reached to squeeze Brian's shoulder.

Brian nodded grimly, blinking back tears. "Thank you for telling me, Dad," he said after several moments. He stood, embracing Albus who still sat in the tall chair and kissed his father's bearded cheek. They remained like this for many heartbeats, not speaking, their magic coursing solid and warm between them.

"You should get back to Gryffindor Tower, my boy," Albus said, unashamedly wiping tears from his eyes. "The others might worry that you've been given permanent detention from the Headmaster!"

Brian shook his head and smiled. "It's getting warm enough; I may go for a swim in the lake before dinner and have a little visit with Elliot. I get fat every winter if I'm not careful."

Albus chuckled and gave his son a mild smirk. He Banished the chairs with a wave of his hand, escorting Brian back out to the ornate Headmaster's desk. "With all of the castle stairs to navigate, I rather doubt that, Mr. Rollins," he said, addressing him more formally now that they were once again in the presence of the portraits.

"Have a good evening, sir."

After his son left, Albus sat in silence for a long while, thinking about the first rise of the Dark Lord, Voldemort and those who had suffered in the fight against him.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: Harry unintentionally discovers that Voldemort is using unicorn blood, as well as other nefarious means, to survive. Elliot, the Giant Squid, has wonderful news to share. Neville attempts to stop the trio from losing House points again, and is Petrified for his troubles. After a minor accident, Brian learns a few things about wandless magic.

_**Chapter 24/??**_

_**Left behind but moving forward**_

A look of sympathetic pain crossed Hagrid's face as he knelt down on one knee, running his fingers through the puddle of thick, silvery liquid; it wasn't quite a liquid, really, but it shimmered and reflected the moonlight above them in the Forbidden Forest.

"Look here, see that?" he asked, showing the four students his stubby fingertips and getting back to his feet. "That's unicorn blood. Found one dead a couple o' weeks ago, and this'un here's been badly injured. We need to find it quickly! Maybe it can be healed, or maybe it needs to be put down, I dunno yet. Either way, we _must_ find it tonight." The half-giant's sense of urgency mingled with grief was palpable; not only had Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback dragon hatchling been sent away to the colony where Charlie Weasley worked in Romania, but also the beautiful unicorns under his care were being killed.

Argus Filch had delivered the foursome for their detention to Hagrid's hut, sneering and gloating the entire walk down from the castle not many minutes before, taunting them with stories about the "old punishments" which took place in the dungeons. His craggy features were lit horribly as he raised the lantern a little bit higher above his head, getting what he hoped was one last look at the guilty miscreants.

"I'll be back at dawn for whatever's left. Nighty-night!"

Hermione shuddered as she remembered his words, shaking herself determinedly to pay attention to the Groundskeeper: "We'll split up, cover more ground thattaway… Hermione and Ron, ye're wit' me; Harry, you take Malfoy and Fang." Hagrid gave Potter an apologetic wink, getting a grim nod in reply. "Send up sparks wit' yer wands if you find summat or get inter trouble, alright?"

As the two groups separated, Hagrid reminded them to stick to the paths wherever possible, and Malfoy began grumbling and complaining loudly enough to wake whatever beings were lurking in the surrounding dark acres.

"Wait 'til my father hears about this stupid rubbish," he groused, his lips curling into an arrogant sneer. "That big oaf." Draco held his lantern handle tightly in his left, and Harry thought he could make out white-knuckles on the Slytherin's hand. The pale blonde boy didn't pause to consider that his noisy complaints might even garner them unwanted attention. "I thought we'd be doing lines or something for detention, not this…this is a lousy servant's job!"

"Shut it, Malfoy. Let's just get this over with," Harry countered sharply. "I'm not exactly best pleased to be out here either, scaredy-cat." Despite himself, Harry almost grinned thinking of what Brian and the rest of the study group would say at that moment.

"I'm not scared, I'm… "

"Whatever." Harry couldn't restrain a frisson of perverse satisfaction at hearing the fear in Draco's voice.

Weeks later when he recalled this particular night, Harry could not be completely certain what he saw and felt during the next hour or so. Fang began growling at something just ahead of them, the spiky hair of his back quivering in anticipation, and then all of a sudden, the large boarhound cut and ran, leaving the two boys to fend for themselves. In the gloom of the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought he saw a hooded figure crouching over what appeared to be a dead unicorn. The figure looked up, turning toward them, and a searing pain blazed through Harry's head.

As soon as he made out the fearsome picture, his feeble oil lantern barely reflecting the silvery unicorn blood dripping down upon the man's (The thing's? The monster's?) chin and robes, Draco let out an horrific yell, dropped the lantern and ran shrieking away as fast as he could. Harry stumbled backwards and found himself trapped against gnarled tree roots, their fingerlike structures grabbing and grasping at him and impeding his movement. His heart thundered in his chest, and his limbs felt utterly useless.

Not that he could have run anyway, seemingly frozen in place as he was just then. The pain in his head as his scar seemed to flash and throb was making him quite nauseous, and he felt like he would black out or at the very least, throw up all over the forest floor. Both were reasonable reactions as he fought to quell a growing sense of panic.

Unable to tear his eyes from the surreal scene before him, he watched as a lithe, muscular centaur leaped over a fallen tree trunk, and began flashing its deadly front hooves at the hooded figure. Like a cloud of smoke, the hooded whatever-it-was rose up from the ground and drifted away into the darkness… as if it had never even been there. Harry wasn't sure what he'd seen, and eventually found his voice as the centaur cautiously approached his hiding place among the tree roots.

"Harry Potter," said the centaur, his voice deep and clear in the eerie quiet of the forest. "He is gone."

Harry got shakily to his feet, dusting off his robes and trousers; he still felt rather sick from the fierce pounding in his skull. "Thanks, erm… you know my name, but I don't know yours."

"I am called Firenze," the centaur replied calmly, lifting his shaggy head and sniffing the air. "Harry Potter, you must leave this place. Many forest creatures know you and know your tale, but you cannot stay with us. It is not safe."

"What was that thing? Did it kill the unicorn?" He gasped in shock as he realized that several unicorns had been killed recently, according to what Hagrid had told them before they split up to begin their search.

Firenze shuffled and snorted angrily, but Harry got the sense that his anger was at the awful situation and not at him. "It is a grave crime to murder a unicorn, but that one fears only the… "

"But who would do such a thing, Firenze? I don't understand," Harry pressed further. He fervently wished his heartbeat would slow to a more normal pace; its rapidity was making him dizzy.

"Can you think of no one who would slaughter another for his own selfish gain, young one? He has nothing to lose," Firenze said disconsolately. "Drinking unicorn blood will save you, even if you are inches from death, but it is an unthinkable crime to kill a creature that is so pure, so innocent. He is saved from death for now, but at very great cost to his soul… and to us all."

"You mean that that _thing_ was Voldemort?"

If the centaur had an answer, Harry never heard it. At that very moment, Hagrid arrived with Ron, Hermione and Draco in tow, the latter still wide-eyed and fearful; Fang had run all the way back to Hagrid's hut, where he was found later cowering underneath the front flagstone steps.

"Hello, Firenze," he greeted, heaving a sigh of relief at finding Potter alive and then shouldering his crossbow. "I see ye've met Harry at last."

"This is where I must leave you, son of Lily and James," the handsome centaur said softly, his gray eyes bright in the moonlight. "I must return to my herd, and wish you luck in yours."

-/-/-/-/-/-

By the time Harry, Ron and Hermione made it back to the Gryffindor Common Room after helping the Keeper of Keys and Grounds to collect the lifeless body of the senselessly slain unicorn, not one of them was in the mood to head up to the dormitories to get a few hours of restless, nightmare-filled sleep. Potter, in particular, was well and truly shaken by what he'd seen and learned during their detention, and much of it, he couldn't yet understand.

"You-Know-Who is out in the Forbidden Forest? _Now_?" Hermione asked, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, killing the unicorns and drinking their blood for weeks apparently," Harry said, grimacing as his lightning-bolt scar burned again. "The centaur told me… "

"He _told_ you?" Ron couldn't help himself, and his voice rose loudly. "What do you mean, he told you?" Odd that Weasley, who grew up in a Wizarding household, would focus on the "talking to the centaur" bit and not the one about "drinking unicorn blood".

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Shh! Yes, the one Hagrid called Firenze. You heard them speaking in full, grammatically-correct, English sentences, Ronald." The girl sounded exasperated. "Think before you ask these questions, for pity's sake."

"Snape doesn't want the Sorcerer's Stone for himself, he wants it for Voldemort, to make the Elixir of Life so he can bring him back," Harry continued, wincing and rubbing his forehead. "To bring him back stronger than ever, probably."

"If You-Know-Who does come back," Ron whispered, as ever not using the Dark Lord's self-proclaimed moniker. "He won't, er, try to kill you will he? I mean, try again… "

"He would have tried tonight if he'd gotten the chance." At last, the burning of his scar had somewhat subsided, but Harry couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. He shifted around to stare moodily into the fireplace, uncertain of what he was feeling when Ron mentioned that this wizard had already tried, and failed, to kill him as an infant. Voldemort _had_ succeeded in killing his parents.

Hermione turned in her seat, smiling slightly as both Zoë and Crookshanks purred in their sleep and began kneading her leg with their front paws (Brian had once referred to this as "making biscuits", and had then, in response to their blank stares, gone on to explain what "biscuits" were over in America). The cats were well into their customary nighttime cuddle-knot when the trio of first years got back from detention. She carefully moved the felines to one side of her lap, getting more comfortable as they slumbered on, seemingly unaware of the intense conversation around them.

"I think we're forgetting one very important thing, Harry," she began, looking pensive and stroking first Crookshanks' back, then Zoë's. "Who is the one wizard Voldemort is afraid of?"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other, shrugging.

"Dumbledore," said Hermione, her voice firm, assured. "As long as the Headmaster is around, you're safe, Harry. You can't be touched by anyone with him close at hand. He may not look it, or act it much of the time, but it has always been said that Professor Dumbledore is the most powerful British wizard in many generations."

-/-/-/-/-/-

End of year exams began, as always, on June the first, and there were both written and practical tests to complete. Students were grouped by their year, regardless of Houses, and given special quills that were Charmed to make cheating impossible. The order of exams followed, more or less, their block schedule class times so that written finals for Transfiguration and Charms took up the entire first day with a short break at noon for lunch in each of the four Common Rooms. The Great Hall was occupied as a multi-purpose exam location for those classes that met in tiny tower rooms, such as Astronomy or Divination.

The second day of exams for the first year students saw them sitting through Defense and Herbology, followed by Astronomy and Potions written examinations on the third. Practical exams were next: in Charms, each student sat privately with Professor Flitwick to demonstrate their skills in Charming a pineapple to tap-dance across his desk. Brian earned few extra credit points (and a bit of delighted applause from the merry little Charms Master), by Charming a jazzy musical accompaniment for his tropical fruit. When he left the room to rejoin his classmates, he was grinning from ear to ear and still warm from Flitwick's genuine praise. Even Hermione expressed her admiration for his creative idea, and friendly envy that she hadn't thought of it.

Neville and Seamus had minor explosions during their Transfiguration practicals (in which they were to Transform a mouse into a snuffbox while Professor McGonagall looked on… with points taken off for incomplete transformations). Ron, Harry, Dean and Brian were nearly overcome by fumes which poured from Ron's cauldron during the Potions lab practical, in which they each had to prepare a Forgetfulness Potion under Professor Snape's watchful (and nerve-wracking) glares.

The last exam was for History of Magic, and when ghost-Professor Binns called time, even Harry cheered loudly with the rest of his classmates as they Banished the special quills (with varying degrees of success: Seamus' caught fire rather spectacularly and he received a standing ovation from those present in the classroom). Harry's head had been aching for the entire week, and not just from the tension of final exams. Every time he turned around, he half expected to see Snape and/or Voldemort blasting their way into the castle classrooms and hallways.

"I rather enjoyed that, didn't you?" Hermione asked as they walked down the front steps of the castle. "I'd always heard from the upperclassmen around here that exams were positively dreadful… the whole week in fact, but I think we did well. We should get the study group together tonight to go over our written portions."

Ron and Harry looked at each other in disbelief, shaking their heads. "I'd rather not think about them just yet, if you don't mind," said Weasley, trying not to yawn too loudly. "We've got a whole blessed week until grades come out, thank you very much; I need to figure out how to tell Mum and Dad I'm nothing but a 'Troll' with red hair."

"Brian, what about you?" She asked. Rollins chuckled, continuing to remove his robes and loosen his Gryffindor school tie. They strode closer to the lake where the Weasley twins, and their best friend Lee Jordan, were tickling the Giant Squid as he warmed himself in the shallows.

"If you like," he answered her with a shrug, smiling and not really paying attention as his clothes made it into more or less the same pile on the lawn; Elliot rose up and splashed water toward shore, happy to see his two-legged friend. "Yep, done at last. Did she get here yet? What does she look like?"

It took several seconds for the third years to realize what Brian was asking the Giant Squid. "Elliot's got a _girlfriend_?!" asked Lee. Brian paused, cocking his head to listen.

"A _wife_; a pretty one too," he said with a grin. "Dumbledore arranged everything with the Merchieftainess' help, and she's on her way. Should be here any day now."

"Good for you, mate," George congratulated the Giant Squid, reaching down to pat a large, muscular tentacle. A big bubble of air came from Elliot's beak-like mouth, followed by a breathy squeak.

"He says thanks," Brian translated at once. He'd stripped off his entire uniform revealing faded blue swim trunks under his trousers, and then waded in up to his knees beside the squid. "Come on in," he said to the other students, beckoning with one hand. "The water's wonderful."

Fred Weasley snickered, dipping his hand in and looking at the gooseflesh that rose on his arm. "No thanks, Squid. I'd better wait 'til July or I'll freeze my bollocks off!"

Brian laughed heartily, regaining his balance as Elliot nudged him. "He means _me_, buddy. My brothers gave me that nickname a long time ago back home." He turned to the twins. "Be nice, you guys!"

George, Lee and Fred did a double take, understanding that Brian was still talking to the squid and translating for them. Elliot splashed more water ashore, soaking the third years.

"Oi! Sorry, Elliot," said Fred, laughing and wiping droplets from his face. George and Lee were laughing too, not caring that they were drenched in the cross-fire.

Ron, Harry and Hermione had been standing off to one side, watching the amusing show and listening in. None of them were brave, or foolhardy, enough to go swimming.

"Harry, hey, you alright?" Ron asked when his roommate flinched and brought a hand up to his forehead.

"It's my scar again," was the reply as he sat, a soft groan escaping his lips. "I wish I knew what this meant."

Ron plopped down on the ground beside Hermione and stretched luxuriously. He was very seriously considering a nap in the shade of the craggy old beech tree. "Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey; she'd know what to do."

"No, I'll be alright," Harry said. "It's not constant like it was the other night in the For…"

Hermione and Ron gasped in unison when Harry suddenly got to his feet. "Why didn't I think of it before? Hagrid! The stranger in the pub _had_ to be Snape, and he went looking for Hagrid. Don't you see? He had to get around Fluffy to get to that trapdoor; that's where the Sorcerer's Stone is being kept, that's what he's after!"

It was all they could do to keep up with Potter as he started running toward the Gamekeeper's hut; Hagrid and Fang were relaxing on the front steps, and Hagrid played a cheerful little tune on a home-made flute. Behind them, Brian and the third year boys paid no attention as they splashed and shouted with Elliot, the soon-to-be-wed Giant Squid. It was an unlikely, but entertaining, bachelor's party of sorts at the Black Lake.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"We have to see Headmaster Dumbledore! Immediately, please!" Harry exclaimed as he, Ron, and Hermione burst into Professor McGonagall's classroom and gathered in front of her desk. She fixed them with a hard stare; not pleased to have her exam grading interrupted by anyone. One ghostly student was seated at the third table from the back, seeming to be rushing to complete an exam or other assignment.

"He is not here, Mr. Potter," Minerva said, her lips drawing a thin, stern line. "Professor Dumbledore received an urgent notice from the Ministry of Magic, and left for London nearly ten minutes ago."

"Please, Professor McGonagall," Hermione interjected earnestly. "It's important!"

Weasley nodded his agreement. "Yes, ma'am. Very, very important!"

McGonagall didn't smile, but her eyes sparkled dangerously as she set aside the exam parchment she had been marking. "Professor Dumbledore is an extremely busy wizard; I would doubt that any issue or concern from a student could not be properly handled by their Head of House or other faculty member. Miss Granger, I should expect better judgment from you… "

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "It's life and death important, Professor! It's about the Sorcerer's Stone!"

Whatever Minerva had been expecting to hear from these three young Gryffindors, that was not it. She drew in a sharp breath. "I don't know how you found out about that, but I assure you that it is more than adequately protected. We teachers _are_ rather good at magic, you know."

"But… " the three of them protested in one voice.

Her patience was visibly strained by their disobedient attitudes. "That is an end of it. I will take additional points if necessary! Yes, Mr. Weasley, from my _own_ House, even if we are already in last place." McGonagall looked at each one in turn. "You will return to your dormitories, at once please." Her tone indicated that she would brook no further defiance, and they reluctantly made their way to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Once there, Harry looked resolutely at his comrades-in-arms. "It's tonight, then. We have to go down the trapdoor, tonight. I hope Snape hasn't already gotten it!"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited in their dorm rooms until well after eleven, long enough, they decided for the rest of the students in Gryffindor Tower to have gone to sleep. Potter grabbed up his Invisibility Cloak and tiptoed downstairs to the Common Room with the others. A sudden loud "croak!" brought them up short, with Granger and Weasley running into his back.

"Trevor!" Ron hissed at the very large brownish-green toad, recognizing him immediately. "Hush, you're not supposed to be down here, you silly… "

"And neither are you," said Neville, standing from the cushy armchair and stepping into view. "_You're_ not supposed to be down here. _You're_ going to get us all into trouble again!"

Ron's mouth opened and shut several times, but no sounds came out. He was still taking in the image before his eyes of Neville Longbottom, standing up to the three of them, while wearing his completely buttoned-up, blue teddy-bear pajamas.

"Nev, come on," Harry said in a coaxing tone. "It's not like we're going to get caught this time. Why don't you just get back up to bed? We'll be back in no time."

"I won't!" Neville replied stubbornly. "You're going to lose us House-points again! I don't care that we're already dead last."

Weasley at last found his voice. "Neville, you can cover for us with old McGonagall, right, mate?" He reached for Longbottom's shoulder but was shrugged off. "Come on."

"No way," said Longbottom, stepping back a pace and raising both fists. "I'll… I'll fight you, that's what."

Hermione pushed her way forward, huffing impatiently at the delays as the boys debated. She drew her wand from a pocket of her sweater. "I'm dreadfully sorry but this is for your own good," she said, swishing and flicking the tip of her wand at Neville. "_Petrificus_ _Totalus_."

With that incantation, Neville Longbottom became completely rigid, his eyes wide with fright, and he fell heavily to the floor. Harry and Ron winced in sympathy at the loud "thump" when he landed flat on his back, his arms and legs locked solidly. They glanced at Hermione who was putting her wand away; their expressions part admiration and part apprehension.

"Good thing you're on our side," muttered Ron as he stepped over the hapless Neville, lying there on the hearthrug. "Sorry, Nev."

"Yeah, sorry, Nev," Harry muttered, following the brown-haired witch out through the Fat Lady portrait. "We have to stop Snape."

A half-hour later, Brian wasn't sure what brought him awake. Blinking sleepily, he looked around the first-year boys' dormitory and discovered that there was not one, but three, empty beds. This was most unusual.

Rollins gently scooped up Zoë from his chest, shifted her to one side on the warm bed, and covered her with the blanket. Grabbing his wand from his nightstand, he made his way, barefooted and nearly silent, downstairs to the Common Room.

He was just about to cast a "Lumos" spell, when he tripped heavily over something lying there in the darkness. Brian pitched headlong into the flagstones of the fireplace, felt a sharp pain in his skull, and then, felt nothing at all as he passed out.

When he woke some time later, his heart pounded in his throat when he realized that he couldn't see out of his right eye. Reaching up with his fingers, Brian felt dampness and immediately stripped off his t-shirt to staunch the flow of blood from his head wound. As he sat up, though, nausea swept through him, and he had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up all over the hearthrug.

His vision somewhat cleared, he finally saw Neville Longbottom, lying prone and rigid, in the middle of the floor. "Nev? Hey! Neville, get up," he called to the motionless boy. "Oh, no."

Brian groaned, still holding his t-shirt to his right eye, as he fought to get himself into a seated position against the hearth. He felt like he was going to lose consciousness again. "Topher! Topher, please," he shouted, hoping students were allowed to call on Hogwarts' House-elves in an emergency. "We need the Nurse!"

Heartbeats later, the skinny House-elf appeared, looked quickly around the room, and immediately Disapparated to fetch both Professor McGonagall and Nurse Pomfrey to the Gryffindor Common Room. Brian winced at the pair of loud "pops" that Topher made, and fought to calm his breathing, trusting that help was on the way.

By the time Madam Pomfrey and Minerva stepped through the Fat Lady's portrait, Brian was able to turn his head without getting dizzy. He gave both witches quite a shock, though, when they saw his face and upper chest were covered in blood.

"Dearie me," exclaimed Poppy, moving first to Neville's side, wand drawn, and casting several spells to light the room. "What has happened here?" She took Neville's wrist in her warm hand, and then muttered a "_Finite_" over him. "Easy, easy, Mr. Longbottom; let's have a look at you," she admonished him, keeping a firm grip on his elbow.

Minerva moved quickly to where Brian leaned on the hearthstones, reaching for the bloodied t-shirt he'd just lowered from his face. Brian grimaced at the brightness in the Common Room, waving his empty left hand irritably at the sconces.

"Ow! Too much," he grumbled, shutting his eyes. "_Nox_, _nox_, _nox_." All three lights were extinguished above them, leaving only the dim embers in the fireplace.

Poppy raised her eyebrows questioningly, noticing that Brian's broken wand was lying there on the floor beside him. McGonagall frowned slightly but murmured a spell to light the sconces at one-third their usual intensity. She cast a light Cleansing charm on his t-shirt, dampening it with cool water that she Summoned from the nearby washroom.

"Oh, thank you, Professor," he said softly. "That's better."

She looked into his eyes, gently smoothing his hair back but keeping well away from the deep cut at the right side of his forehead; the wound was merely oozing now. He smiled slightly as he felt the warm tingle of his mother's magic against him.

"What happened, Mr. Rollins?" she asked.

"I think I tripped over Neville," was the reply. "Other than that, I'm not really sure, ma'am."

"It was Harry, Professor," Neville said hoarsely, as the school Head Matron eased him into a seated position on the floor where he'd been Petrified. "He, Ron, and Hermione were going out to stop, I dunno, something."

"Don't move, either of you," Poppy instructed, moving to the fireplace and taking a bit of Floo-powder from a tiny vial in her pinny's pocket. "I'm going to have two stretchers brought to get you down to the hospital wing. Ah, ah, ah—no arguing, lads." A kindly wink belied her stern words, but both boys knew better than to protest further.

His curiosity piqued, Brian watched as Madam Pomfrey knelt, and stuck her entire head into the fireplace (it now glowed an eerie green). After a brief conversation with someone at the other end, she carefully stood, brushed off her skirt, and smiled back at them. Brian had only recently learned about the internal Floo-network, but had never seen anyone make a "Floo-call". On the other hand, since he grew up in a Wizarding household, Neville thought nothing of it.

"_That_ really is cool, Nurse Pomfrey," Brian commented with a grin. "I've not… Oh! What the heck was that?" He laughed suddenly as a tickling sensation coursed through his entire body, and then looked down at Minerva's gentle hand on his arm. McGonagall, realizing what he'd so strongly felt at that moment, gave a subtle shake of her head, nodding toward Neville.

"No, ma'am," Brian said quickly, as Poppy reacted with concern to his exclamation. "I'm fine, really. I just got a shiver for some reason."

While the four waited in companionable, quiet conversation for the mediwizards to arrive with stretchers for the boys, Minerva McGonagall pondered not one, but two, new magical abilities in her young son. Even with a broken wand, he was apparently capable of performing some simple wandless magic; and, even more unexpectedly, he was able to "feel" it when Headmaster Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts castle, and retrieved the wards from his wife and Deputy.

TBC

A/N: think "end-of-film-One" and what might have been happening off-screen! Thank you so much for your kind comments and encouragement. The theory behind the transfer of Hogwarts security wards is derived from the extensive "RaM-verse" by MMADfan.


	25. Chapter 25

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language).

A/N: It is the end of the school year. Hogwarts' students prepare for the traditional Leaving feast and awarding of the House cup.

_**Chapter 25/??**_

_**The Sleeper Awakes**_

Madam Pomfrey insisted that Brian remain in the hospital wing for observation until the day of the Leaving feast, even after Neville was released the next morning. She made a point of instructing him to "rest his magic" completely, particularly since he was recovering from a mild concussion. Most students were taking it easy during those few days anyway, lounging about while the teachers marked the end-of-year exams.

Brian was momentarily confused when he heard his father's voice coming from the hospital bed to his right. When he looked up sleepily, he recalled that Harry had been brought in unconscious and injured the day before (but Pomfrey had reassured him that his classmate would recover fully). Rollins blinked at the narrow table beside him, his gaze passing over the bound sketchbook and backgammon set which his mother had brought during one of her visits.

"Harry, do you know why Professor Quirrell couldn't bear for you to touch him? It was because of your mother, Lily," Albus was saying, his tone gentle as he explained, settling himself beside Potter on the raised cot. "She sacrificed herself for you on that night so long ago. That kind of act leaves a mark… oh no, not the scar; this mark lives in your very skin."

Brian sat up quietly, stifling a mild yawn, and returned their smiles when the two wizards briefly noticed him. Albus' smile in particular was warm, and the boy caught a slight wink from the Headmaster as Dumbledore recognized the purple paste covering an inch or so the right side of his forehead (Madam Pomfrey habitually used generous doses of the sticky purple plaster, hoping to minimize scarring whenever possible).

"I don't understand, sir," Harry replied. "What is it?"

"_Love_, Harry," said Albus, his bright blue eyes glistening with a few unshed tears. "It was your mother's love." He patted Harry on the head, stood and went around to what looked like half of a candy store on the narrow table. Brian's own pile of candy, cards and sweets was slightly smaller, but impressive nonetheless.

Dumbledore picked up an empty carton. "It seems that Mr. Weasley, Ronald I mean, has saved you the trouble of opening your chocolate frogs." He chuckled, continuing to peruse the candy selections. "I have heard from Arthur that he has quite an extensive collection of Wizard cards at home."

"Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans… may I? I was unfortunate in my youth to encounter a vomit-flavored one. Since then I am afraid I have completely lost my liking for them," Albus said. "But, I think I could be safe with a nice caramel or a toffee like this one."

The Headmaster carefully nibbled at one of the pale-brown colored beans, and then chewed it thoughtfully, letting the flavor wash over his palate. He sighed with disappointment. "Alas, earwax."

Both boys looked at each other, big grins on their faces, and Brian had to make an extra effort not to laugh out loud. He usually avoided these peculiar jellybean candies, especially if Fred or George Weasley were making "new flavor" recommendations in the Gryffindor Common Room. The twins' ideas of harmless jokes and pranks were sometimes more than a little nauseating, and Brian had three somewhat trickster older brothers of his own.

"Sorry, Professor," Brian said quickly, happy to see Albus shrug with good humor. "I still have some lemon drops over here, if you'd like to get the bad taste out of your mouth." He held up a small brown paper bag, and Dumbledore came to select a few.

"Much better," Albus told him, his eyes shining with fond amusement as he sucked on the lemon candies. "Thank you, Mr. Rollins." He felt a mild tickle from Brian's magical signature brushing against his own, but he didn't mention it.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to check on her two young patients, placing a tray of amber glass and clear crystal vials upon a cart between their beds. Dumbledore smiled at her in greeting, and politely took his leave. "Good afternoon, Nurse Pomfrey, and good luck to you gentlemen. I hope to see you at the Leaving feast tonight if…"

"_If_ all goes well with my examinations, Headmaster," she interrupted courteously. "Although I do agree with you that it would be a shame for Mr. Potter and Mr. Rollins to miss their first one. We will do our best to see that your old Gryffindor House is well represented, Albus."

He smiled again, giving her a nod of understanding as he turned and strode from the hospital ward, his midnight-blue robes swirling smartly behind him.

"Right," Poppy said, taking up her wand to cast a few diagnostic spells. "Tell me which of you lucky lads shall be first?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

"I'm positive, Mom," Brian said over the backgammon board, as he studied his next possible moves. "I didn't go to Mr. Ollivander's shop at all. Hagrid went to London before school started and picked up my things at, um, Dee…"

"Diagon Alley," Minerva added with a look of utter surprise crossing her features.

"Yes ma'am, thank you. I never made it to Diagon Alley or King's Cross station or anything," Brian continued, shaking the dice cup and pushing two of his chocolate-brown disks around the board.

"I flew trans-Atlantic from Bangor, Maine to Glasgow to London—that was easy; got to Heathrow airport through Immigration and all of that official stuff; got down to the Underground; and, got jumped by those tough guys." He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "I woke up in Madam Pomfrey's hospital… which I seem to do a lot of these days. I also met you and Dad, though I didn't know it at the time. You both told me a little about Gryffindor house and I knew I wanted to be sorted there."

McGonagall shook her head, smiling affectionately at her son, and thinking yet again how handsome she thought he was in his wizarding robes. "I thought you might, and I remember that day very clearly. I'm still a bit curious about your wand though, Brian, and how well you did during the school year. Usually it is a wand which chooses its wizard you know; that's how it was for me when my father took me to Ollivander's shop." She picked up her dice at the completion of her turn, looking thoughtful (and remembering what a torturously long day it had been before her wand of magical ivy and dragon heartstring core had finally chosen her in the late summer of 1936).

"I saved the pieces," he said, pulling a small nondescript box from a pocket of his school robes. "And the original packaging… yes, here it is: 'Mahogany wood with a unicorn tail hair core.' I'm not sure what that means." Brian handed the box containing his wand fragments and the card written in Ollivander's neat calligraphy script to Minerva.

"Hmm, I'm no expert in wand making but mahogany wood can often be associated with good skills in Transfiguration," she remarked, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. McGonagall held the broken handle, looking at it closely. She gave a rare shrug, realizing with an inward smile, that she was unconsciously imitating his rather endearing gesture.

"But," said Minerva softly, "that could also be due to your innate abilities which we have only started to uncover, my young one." Brian raised both eyebrows at this, clearly interested.

The door to the Headmaster's suite opened just then, and in walked Albus Dumbledore. His face lit up brightly when he saw Brian and Minerva waiting for afternoon tea with him; they had planned a brief visit before the Leaving feast to be held later that evening.

"No, don't get up, dear boy," he called, as Brian was about to rise from the table. In a few long strides, Albus came over to kiss his wife and his son.

"My favorite witch and wizard! How did it go with Madam Pomfrey this afternoon, Brian? Obviously you got out of hospital with a good report from the matron." Albus sat on the small couch, sending his hat and heavy outer robe to rest neatly on the coat tree. He stretched his arms and shoulders, groaning softly at the luxurious feeling; he'd been caught up with school business for the better part of the afternoon, and was looking forward to the summer holidays, almost as much as the students were.

"It went well, I think, Dad," was the reply. "My magical reserves and all that have returned to normal, and she said I am 'fit for punishment.'" Brian looked over when he heard Minerva stifle a chuckle. "I do hope she was kidding about the last part."

Dumbledore chuckled too, his eyes twinkling at the boy. "Poppy was indeed; it's an old Muggle expression over here, R.A.F. I believe. What would you say to tea and biscuits or tea and sandwiches for the three of us?"

"I would say 'yes'," Brian responded immediately, and with his usual enthusiasm. This made Albus and Minerva laugh again, and McGonagall called for their house-elf.

"How may I serve, Professor?" Topher asked as soon as he appeared in the sitting room. He gave Brian a friendly smile and nod, pleased that the young man looked better than the last time he had seen him up in the Gryffindor tower.

"A pot of tea please, Rooibos would be nice if we still have it, and an assortment of light sandwiches," said Minerva. "We don't want to spoil our appetites for tonight." She completed her final turn of backgammon, narrowly defeating Brian who had three remaining disks as Topher Disapparated with a faint "snick".

"That was a good game, Mom," Brian commented, collecting the playing pieces, cups and dice to put the backgammon set away. Moments later, a tea service appeared, fully stocked with three cups and saucers, the white porcelain matching the decorative coral-colored hollyhock and yellow roses intertwined on the side of the kettle. A platter of neatly stacked sandwiches rested nearby.

"What time is the feast starting, Dad?" Brian enquired, indicating his school robes and loosely knotted necktie. "I wasn't sure if I'd have time to get back up to the dormitory beforehand to change clothes."

"Usually around seven or seven-fifteen, and I hope the Headmaster doesn't give a dreadfully long speech this year," replied Albus, beaming happily at his wife. "Thank you, dearest." This last was in response to Minerva who had passed tea to him and Brian. Both wizards took up small plates and selected sharp Cheddar cheese and green apple sandwiches. Topher had prepared them on toasted whole-wheat bread triangles.

"And don't forget your hat," Minerva added. "This is a formal occasion when the House cup is awarded; it makes a nice book-end on the year, with the Sorting ceremony at the beginning of school."

Brian gave a small grimace, pulling his black wizard's hat from another pocket. He put it on, not looking entirely pleased, but trying to keep a straight face for his mother and Head of House. "No ma'am, I remembered to bring it. I just don't like wearing it."

Albus struggled to hide his smile and McGonagall's eyes were sparkling with amusement. "It's very handsome, son. You'll get used to hats that are not your familiar style," she said gently, thinking of his favorite American Muggle baseball cap (dark blue with a large red "B").

Brian blushed, grinning shyly as he returned it to his pocket. "Thank you. I don't think I look as good and 'wizardy' as Dad does in his robes and hats… lots and lots of hats, by the way."

Dumbledore chuckled at the expression, his cheeks growing faintly pink from the good-natured teasing. "You flatter me, Brian, but I've been 'wizardy' looking for many, many years now. It's expected!" The three of them laughed, enjoying the quiet family time together. Minerva checked the cart, Levitating two plates of biscuits to their small table. One held her favorite ginger newts, and the other was laden with crispy lemon snaps.

Their appetites whetted by the light snack that Topher had provided for their afternoon tea, Albus and Brian both selected a second half-sandwich—curried chicken salad this time, and conversation turned to the events of two nights prior, when Harry had gone down into the dungeons and Brian had inadvertently discovered an ability to perform a wandless spell.

"Tell me about it, my boy," Albus began, wiping his mouth and beard with a cloth napkin before he settled back with a fresh cup of the fragrant red tea; even for his taste, he found that he rarely had to sweeten the Rooibos variety. "What do you remember?"

Brian finished eating a lemon snap and sighed at the recollection, a smile quirking his lips. "Mostly being a clumsy goof-ball, to tell you the truth. I had my wand out and I was about to cast a 'Lumos' for at least a little bit of light in the common room, when I tripped over Neville lying there in the middle of the floor. I didn't expect to go crashing into the fireplace and cracking my skull in the process, that's for sure."

Minerva reached over, pushing back a lock of his hair to reveal the scar on his forehead. Madam Pomfrey's potions and plasters had mostly healed it but there would always be a faint reminder. She didn't comment but caught a tender look from Albus; Minerva knew he was thinking about Brian's crooked nose that he earned in a fight on the castle steps, just a few months before.

"I broke my wand then too," Brian said, blushing again. "I'm sorry; I know they are expensive and I could work to pay back…"

Albus patted his arm, then took his wife's hand in his, lightly kissing the soft skin of her knuckles. "Not a worry for now, son. What happened next?"

The boy paused, thoughtful. "I called for Topher when I came to—Neville was so still and stiff, and I was dizzy and bleeding from my head. It was a little scary since I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not."

"Understandable," Minerva told him. "He'd been petrified, but you did the right thing calling for help as quickly as you did."

Brian nodded. "A few minutes later, Mom and Madam Pomfrey showed up, probably lighting extra candles or something as they came in. The brightness made my head hurt and so I just… switched them off with the first spell that came to mind. I don't believe I thought about it much, more like a gut-reaction on my part." He looked expectantly at the elder wizard.

Dumbledore smiled, nodding his approval. "It was your intent that mattered most, Brian, regardless of what spell you cast."

"And you formed the intent quite clearly from what I saw," Minerva added.

"I'd never even thought about wandless magic or anything before, I just did it."

"Quick, my boy! Would you fetch my hat, please?" Albus asked suddenly, leaning forward expectantly.

Rollins reached out his hand toward the coat tree, the request coming too fast for him to hesitate more than a heartbeat or two. "_Accio_ hat!"

The dark blue wizard's hat flew rapidly across the room to the table, missing Brian's grasp entirely, but Albus was able to catch it, laughing. He looked satisfied.

"Well done, son! Your control is a bit off, but that was well done," Albus told him, his voice warm with praise for the first-year student. "We'll have to add this to our tutorials before trying any more, just to be safe. Please don't experiment on your own yet, alright?" Brian concurred and seemed to be about to ask a question.

At Brian's rather puzzled look, Minerva went on to explain: "Wandless and nonverbal spells are usually part of the fifth through seventh years' curricula. I'm sure none of your year could accomplish it, not even Miss Granger, as skilled as she is." She shook her head, smiling faintly. "It seems that Albus and I should have known."

"That's really neat!" said the youngster, still not sure what to make of this new magical skill. "Mom, you said earlier that my wand didn't pick me… the one I broke, I mean."

Minerva inclined her head, noticing that Dumbledore had raised one questioning eyebrow at this information. "Yes, it is probably significant that you did not go to Ollivander's yourself at the beginning of the term. In fact, here," she said, reaching into her outer robe's pocket and handing Brian her wand, handle end first. "Use mine to cast a spell."

"What should I try?" he asked, hesitantly taking up McGonagall's wand while Albus quietly observed, his interest piqued. "I don't want to damage anything."

"Try the Duplicating spell I taught you during our tutorials, remember? It was very useful with your Animagus essays, and you are familiar with it, Brian. You won't damage anything." She smiled to reassure him.

Not sure why he was still a little uncomfortable, Brian sat up, and arranged two small plates in front of him. On one he placed a ginger newt, and on the other, he placed a lemon snap; both Albus and Minerva could feel him calming and concentrating as he prepared to cast the "Geminio".

Tapping the ginger newt, he muttered the incantation successfully, and then he repeated the movement and spell on the lemon snap. Perfect copies of each cookie appeared on the plates, and Brian blew out a sigh of relief. He smiled as he passed his parents their respective duplicates.

"You'll have to tell me if they turned out alright. I had a little trouble with the copies-of-copies the first time I tried this," he said, his smile growing broader as he watched Dumbledore taste both lemon snaps, nodding his approval. Minerva did the same, with the same result, and Brian carefully returned her wand.

"What would you say, Albus, to a mother and son shopping excursion in Diagon Alley the day after tomorrow?" McGonagall asked. "We should pay a visit to Mr. Ollivander and then perhaps a few of the other vendors while we are there." Her eyes were bright with the thought of shopping with Brian and showing him around Hogsmeade, if they had time.

Albus happily agreed. "You two could have a lovely day away from the castle to start your summer holiday, couldn't you?" He turned, beaming at the young wizard. "And you, young man, will need to pack your school things if you're going to make the train on time. Hogwarts' Express will take you to King's Cross, and your Mum can pick you up there, or at a nearby meeting place." He knew that Minerva liked to visit the Charles Dickens Museum on nearby Doughty Street sometimes (venturing out in conservative Muggle-attire), and that it was a short walk from King's Cross once you made your way up to the street level.

"Molly Weasley will be meeting her children as well," Minerva added. "You did say that you wanted to thank her for the beautiful sweater she made for you at Christmas."

Brian realized that this meant riding the train down to London with all of his friends, and a happy shout erupted from him. The next moment, Minerva and then Albus had their arms full of a very enthusiastic Gryffindor lion cub.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Harry made his way down to the Great Hall, in the nick of time for the start of dinner, sliding into his seat just as Headmaster Dumbledore stood at the ornate staff table to get the students' attention. It was just as well since Harry was desperately trying to ignore all of the people craning their necks to get a look at him. Despite learning that Gryffindor had lost spectacularly in the final Quidditch match (Harry had been unable to play while he was convalescing in Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing), Brian grinned across the long table at his classmate, unconcerned as usual about House cups, house points and things such as that. His black velvet wizard's hat was tilting at a jaunty angle, and he seemed pleased.

"Hey, you alright, Harry?" Brian asked in a whisper. "I know Nurse Pomfrey turned me loose before you."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," replied Harry just as quietly, glumly looking toward the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy and his cronies looked smug as they prepared to celebrate a seventh consecutive House cup victory. "I just wish we had been able to beat those guys over there. Ron told me Gryffindor got swiped all over the pitch with whoever was the substitute Seeker. Oliver may never speak to me again."

Ron chucked Harry on the shoulder. "No worries, mate; Wood's okay if a bit emotional, at least that's what the twins told me. There's always next year."

Dean and Seamus were about to add their assurances but all of the boys were on the receiving end of Hermione's clearly admonishing glance. Harry shrugged, giving a faint smile of gratitude as they turned their attention to the Headmaster's speech.

"It seems, ladies and gentlemen, we have a traditional house cup to award," Dumbledore was saying cheerfully, his gaze twinkling over the students. He turned to his left and right at the front table, nodding slightly to Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout as the Heads of the school Houses. "In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three-hundred twelve points; in third is Hufflepuff, with three-hundred fifty-two; in second, we have Ravenclaw with four-hundred twenty-six; and, in the lead, we have Slytherin at four-hundred seventy-two points."

Cheers, shouts and stamping of feet erupted from the Slytherin side of the Great Hall. Albus waited for some of the noise to die down. He smiled benignly, raising one hand for quiet.

"Yes, well done, you lot, very well done indeed. However," he said in a patient voice, "recent events require that I award a few last-minute points before we settle accounts, as it were…"

Harry felt a tremor of hope pass through him at the elder wizard's words; he had been watching Draco celebrating by pounding his fists on the table top, and had been sickened by the scene. A perverse sense of happiness settled on his entire being as he saw Malfoy go pale and still, looking at Crabbe and Goyle who just shrugged dumbly. The upperclassmen seated along the Slytherin table looked unwell at that moment.

Albus cleared his throat. "To Mr. Ronald Weasley, I award fifty points for the best played game of wizard's chess that Hogwarts has seen in a great many years."

Harry snickered as Ron blushed crimson, suddenly being slapped on the back by Percy, George and Fred, all at once.

"To Miss Hermione Granger, I award fifty points for her sense and sensibility in the face of numerous obstacles." Brian had to chuckle as the brown-haired witch buried her face in her arms right next to him; he was fascinated, as ever, watching his father speak to the entire school. Although he couldn't tell a soul that his Headmaster was also his Dad, protected by both the _Fidelius_ charm and _Vox_ _Cassandra_, he was certain he would burst with pride one of these days.

"To Mr. Harry Potter, I award sixty points for his Gryffindor nerve and courage—even in the face of certain failure," Albus continued, raising his voice slightly over the shouts from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff students combined. Those who could do arithmetic while yelling were trying to let their classmates know that Gryffindor and Slytherin were now tied at four-hundred and seventy-two points each… completely deadlocked.

Albus waited tolerantly again before he continued, his blue eyes shining as he looked out over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "And finally, children, there are many kinds of courage, as you know. It takes bravery to stand in the face of one's enemies, and just as much to stand up for what is right, even against our friends. For this, I award Mr. Neville Longbottom ten house points," he said, casually flicking both hands at the hanging banners. "In that case, as long as my calculations are in order, we need a slight change of decoration…"

The flags and tapestries which adorned the Great Hall were transformed in brief shimmers of magic: the silver bands became gold; the green flags became scarlet; and, the striking snakes became lions rampant. The noise was deafening as students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw shouted themselves hoarse, all united in the celebration of Slytherin's defeat (it had been at least six years since a house _other_ _than_ that of Salazar Slytherin had claimed the Hogwarts House cup). Students in Slytherin house sat silent and morose, watching in disbelief as Professor Snape was shaking hands with Professor McGonagall, a fixed smile upon his face. The Potions master's eyes were black and hard when he looked over at the joyous Gryffindors, some of whom were helping a disheveled Longbottom back into his seat along the bench. All year long, Neville had not won so much as a single point for Gryffindor.

In the midst of the celebrating, the delicious food arrived from the kitchens as it usually did by means of house-elf magic, and Brian couldn't help grinning up toward the teachers' table, catching the attention of both the Headmaster and his Deputy Headmistress. It was very subtle, but the boy was sure he felt a teasing tickle against his magic from one or both of them. As he and Harry laughed and pounded their fists against each other, both boys knew that this would be a night they would not soon forget.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Brian spent much of the following morning helping Neville track down his rather large toad called Trevor, and convincing his small black and white cat, Zoë, that she needed only to spend a short while in the pet-carrier until Topher could get her safely up to his rooms in the Headmaster's suite. It took a promise from the boy to get her extra ahi tuna-flavored treats from London before she gave her word that she would in fact, _sleep_ in the carrier and not hide from the house-elf. He gave her a grateful kiss on the ear as she curled up for a nap on top of his luggage, and hurried down to the common room where Professor McGonagall was handing out grades and letters of instruction for them to take home.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Rollins," she said somewhat sternly as he sat with his letters on the floor in front of the over-stuffed sofa. Minerva looked at him over the rims of her reading glasses, and several people shook their heads at his tardiness. This particular house meeting was for students in the first through third years.

He smiled apologetically, undaunted by her mild displeasure. "Sorry, Professor McGonagall. Cat trouble upstairs as I was packing my trunk." Brian flinched, chuckling at the hard back slap from Fred Weasley seated behind him. His mother knew at once that he was telling the truth, and gave him a tiny smile of acknowledgement.

"Yeah, _likely_ story, Squid," Fred commented quietly, turning his attention back to the Deputy Headmistress as she cleared her throat.

"Gentlemen," said Minerva, waiting for the students to quiet down again, then she continued: "I would like to add my congratulations to those from Headmaster Dumbledore, for representing the honor of Gryffindor House this year. It wasn't just Quidditch that won the house cup, but all of you." She smiled warmly at Harry and the rest as the twins let out loud, joyous cheers.

McGonagall nodded slightly in agreement. "Be sure to look over your exam marks, and if you have any questions, I am available this afternoon and evening in my office. The other letter, as you know, is strictly enforced by the Ministry of Magic for underage witches and wizards to not use magic while away from the school. You should all qualify soon enough by age seventeen, barring any unforeseen circumstances."

Rollins heard George sigh wistfully, and indirectly felt him elbow his twin brother. "I always hope they'll forget to send these out," he whispered. Fred quietly grunted his assent.

Minerva's hearing was preternaturally acute and she merely looked at the Weasley pair, shaking her head (and making an effort not to roll her eyes—that might encourage them).

"Be sure, also, to get to the train by ten o'clock in the morning. Hogwarts' Express leaves at eleven sharp and you do not want your parents to have the extra expense of collecting you all the way from Hogsmeade. When you make your way down to the Great Hall for breakfast in the morning, it is often easiest to have your things organized ahead of time for the house-elf staff." Most of the second- and third-year students already knew this, and all of them would be directed by the house prefects, but Minerva felt that this last meeting was useful for all sorts of reminders.

"Are there any questions?" asked McGonagall, waiting a few moments as she caught the eye of a student here and there. She realized then how much some of them, including Brian, had grown over the months since September. "None? Very well. I would remind you of one final issue, and that is regarding detentions… my records-keeping can move ahead to the next school year if need be. Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen."

With that, Minerva bid them all a good afternoon and left the common room through the Fat Lady's portrait. The students' conversations resumed their excited tones as they compared exam grades and summer holiday plans.

Brian stood, waiting for Ron, Harry and the twins before heading back upstairs to the boys' dormitory. "She was kidding about that last bit, right guys?"

Fred, George and Lee Jordan exchanged guilty looks with one another. "Uh, no she's not," said Lee, clearing his throat with embarrassment (and one had to know him well to see that he was blushing).

TBC

A/N2: Fall term is busy as you might expect! I hope you are well, and I thank you for your continued patience with Brian and me.


	26. Chapter 26

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RAM-verse compliant!

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality).

A/N: Minerva and Brian have returned to the castle after a full evening of shopping in Diagon Alley, followed by a late dinner in Hogsmeade. It is the beginning of Brian's first summer holiday at Hogwarts.

_**Chapter 26/??**_

_**A Wand Chooses its Wizard**_

Minerva McGonagall rested her hand on the bedroom door, quietly watching as Brian and his very petite black and white cat, slept in an undisturbed cuddle-knot. She felt a familiar warm presence at her back, leaned into Albus' broad chest, and sighed her contentment.

"Knut for your thoughts, my dear?" he asked softly, his breath a ticklish whisper in her ear. She could hear the smile in his voice as his hand came around to caress her waist. Albus so loved the feminine curves of her body that were more often than not concealed beneath her teaching robes.

"It was a wonderful day, Albus," she said, just as softly, closing her eyes and letting his magic wash over and through her; even after more than five decades of marriage, she still found it to be an irresistible sensation. "I admit that I'm a little surprised he was able to stay awake through our dinner though. The poor child didn't want to let on to me how tired he was."

"Most of the students spend a few sleepless nights with the excitement of returning home from school," said Albus, placing a kiss on the back of her head and breathing in the spicy-floral fragrance that was uniquely his wife's. "Of course, we have the usual end-of-year mischief on top of that."

Minerva chuckled lightly, closing the door to their son's "summer bedroom" at Hogwarts. "Yes, I got the impression that Fred and George were in fine form this year," she told him. "Brian said he had packed his things quickly, and then helped out some of the others—like Mr. Longbottom and his often-lost toad. He wasn't sure how far to carry the pretense, but I think he did quite well, don't you?"

"Indeed, he did," Albus said as they walked arm-in-arm to the sofa. It was a chilly June evening in the castle, and Dumbledore had had a cozy fire going in the fireplace when his wife and son returned from their adventures in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. "Would you like more tea or perhaps a brandy before retiring, dearest?"

Minerva sat, stretching slightly and grimacing at the muted popping noise her shoulder made; perhaps she could convince her husband that she needed a full-body massage that would lead to even more closeness. "Brandy, thank you, Albus. That would be nice."

Soon, they were snuggled on the couch, snifters warming in their free hands, silently watching the crackling logs in the hearth. Minerva toed off her Muggle pumps with a soft groan as Albus gently removed her hair pins, massaging her scalp and twirling the ends of her long hair in his fingers. True to her Animagus' nature, she was nearly purring with warmth and pleasure.

"Sleepy, my dear?" Dumbledore finished his brandy and sent the empty glass to rest on the nearby end-table. He kissed Minerva's forehead as she leaned into his embrace.

"Mmm, no, not really," she replied, rubbing his arm and smiling to herself. "I am rather enjoying the peace and the company after a very long and eventful school year." Minerva shifted to look into his eyes when she felt, and heard, a faint chuckle. "What is it, Albus?" After nearly a lifetime of being together, she still shivered with anticipation when he gazed at her _that_ way.

"I was just wondering if you needed my assistance with your wardrobe tonight, my dear Professor McGonagall," he said in a low rumbling voice, his eyes twinkling naughtily. His fingers continued to stroke her hair where it fell past her shoulders.

She raised her eyebrows at this, unable to conceal the gleam in her own eyes and lazily sent her glass to rest beside Albus' with a bit of wandless magic. "Your assistance is always invaluable, Headmaster Dumbledore, if I must reassure you of that fact," Minerva replied noncommittally, teasing him just a little with her subdued reaction. "What do you have in mind?"

Albus didn't restrain a cheeky grin, but he kept up his end of their flirtatious role-play; after all, they'd had many years of devoted practice. "I could not help but notice, Professor that you remained in your Muggle attire far longer than you usually do. I'm sure that can't be comfortable if I recall prior outings correctly."

Minerva looked down at her conservative pale green skirt and blouse, having completely forgotten about it while she was out with Brian for their shopping day, and she laughed. "I was able to ignore it until you mentioned it just now!"

Dumbledore shook his head in mock commiseration, clucking his tongue against his teeth and heaving a dolorous sigh. "Oh dear, dear, dear," he said, shifting around until her bare feet rested in his lap. He squeezed her left foot, firmly massaging the instep before switching to the right foot (and knowing full well that a foot massage was one of Minerva's secret weaknesses). His talented hands moved further up her legs, massaging and kneading her calf muscles but going no higher than her knees. Albus smiled as her eyes darkened with her desire. "A bit of tension here, I'm afraid. I must remember to take better care of my Deputy Headmistress in the future."

"Indeed?" She could feel a rising flush as she resisted the urge to bite her lower lip, nearly groaning as his touch alternated between soft and firm strokes on her legs and feet. Keeping a straight face, Minerva tickled his growing erection through his robes with her dainty toes. "I believe I detect a bit of tension here as well, Headmaster." She knew he could tell that she was becoming more and more aroused by the passing moments.

Albus suddenly stood, a soft growl escaping his lips, and he waved his wand toward Brian's bedroom door which glowed pale blue for a moment as the light Privacy charm was activated upon it. "Just in case I cannot restrain myself, my dear," he whispered as he tucked his wand away in a pocket of his robes, leaning down to lift her bodily from the sofa. Minerva didn't protest, as she often did when her husband carried her into their bedroom, instead threading her fingers in his long, silvery hair and laying her head upon his shoulder, breathing in his scent of lemon faintly tinged with chocolate.

"I do love you with all of my heart, Albus Dumbledore," she said, kissing his bare neck; the closest spot she could reach. "I love you forever."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Albus and Minerva spent a long, enjoyable June night with their suite windows open to the cool mountain air, making love to each other with a slow-burning gentleness that was unhurried and intense. Rising the next morning, far later than they usually did when the school was in session, Minerva put a finger to her lips at the sound of a soft conversation in the outer room. She smiled up at her husband as they paused to listen.

"Thank you, Topher," they heard Brian saying. "I think that's it for now." The house-elf must have replied since the next sound was Brian's pleased chuckle, followed by the unmistakable "snick" of Disapparation.

Minerva and Albus waited quietly, now hearing the sounds of plates and cutlery being moved upon the table. A quick check of their dressing robes, pulled on over green tartan and scarlet silk pajamas, respectively, and the pair stepped around the bookcase to watch as Brian put the finishing touches on the breakfast table set for two. They saw him bend to whisper something to the live miniature yellow roses on the centerpiece, brushing his fingertips gently over the fragrant petals. Topher had removed the window-darkening charms and the breakfast nook was bathed in cheerful, morning sunshine.

"Good morning, my boy!" Albus greeted as he and his wife walked hand in hand across the sitting room. Brian stepped back without startling, a broad smile upon his face; they both felt a tickle as his magic reached out to them. His mother noted that he had indeed grown during the school year, now reaching her height of 5-feet-and-5-inches. She smiled to herself as she thought, yet again, _he will be a tall man, like his father_.

"Hi, Dad," replied the young wizard as he pulled out a chair for Minerva. "Good morning, Mom."

McGonagall leaned over to kiss his cheek, instinctively brushing back a lock of hair from his forehead; the scar from his crash into the hearthstones of the Gryffindor Common Room had healed nearly perfectly under Madam Pomfrey's attentive care. "Did you sleep well, Brian?"

Brian nodded as he pulled the silver cart nearer to the tableside. "Very," he said, moving a teapot to the table and pouring the steaming, fragrant amber liquid into two cups. Albus laughed softly when he saw that the youngster was fully dressed for the day.

"Are you off to classes so soon after the term has ended? You are allowed to take a summer holiday to rest, you know."

Brian blushed, looking down at his faded blue jeans, "Bar Harbor, Maine" t-shirt, and sneakers. "No, sir. Professor Sprout gave me a job helping her in the greenhouses," he replied, looking concerned. "I thought she cleared it with you first since I'll be starting in Greenhouse Three and some of the more hazardous plants are in there. Um, the Fanged geranium, the Venomous Tentacula, the…"

Dumbledore grinned, patting the boy's shoulder (and he happened to catch Minerva slightly rolling her eyes at him: they had plenty of pleasant memories of the narrow, hidden niche behind Greenhouse Three). "Of course, I'm teasing you, son. Come and join us before you head off to your work." Without waiting for an answer, Albus waved his hand and conjured a third place setting at the oval table; a third matching print chair appeared as well.

"That is so cool," Brian said admiringly as he sat, pulling the white linen napkin open and drawing it across his lap. Minerva poured his tea for him, and then placed her own napkin carefully.

"As your schedule permits, perhaps we should add another day or two of Animagus tutorials each week?" Albus suggested, waving his hand over the omelets to duplicate the egg and cheese dish, and serving one to Brian. "What do you think? We should work a bit on your wandless magic as well, to be safe."

"I would love it, really," he replied at once, his blue eyes bright. "I don't even know what you usually do for your summer holidays though; I certainly don't want to interfere with your plans. Fridays down at the Wizengamot sessions, right?"

Minerva clasped his hand gently, smiling at the thought of Albus, who often burned the candles at both ends, suggesting that Brian should be sure to get plenty of R&R. "I have waited forty-eight years to have you in my life everyday, child. Don't worry about our schedules or school business; just enjoy the days, alright? I, for one, am looking forward to this summer very much."

"Sure, Mom, so am I," said Brian softly, squeezing her hand in return. He helped himself to several pieces of bacon and grinned as he ate them.

"You fell asleep before you finished telling me about your new wand, my boy," Albus commented, thinking to himself that he also needed to interview for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor once the advertisement for the teaching position had run in the _Daily Prophet_. "How did you enjoy your visit to Ollivander's?"

Brian chewed and swallowed a bite of toast. "It was neat, and it didn't seem to take long at all… or at least, not as long as I expected," he replied. "Mr. Ollivander brought out, what, four or five wands?" The boy continued at Minerva's nod. "Five. Anyway, the one which chose me is oak, fourteen and a half inches, with a selkie skin core. He said it was an unusual wand but there was no doubt I was meant to have it."

Albus made a sound of surprise, dabbing at his beard with a napkin to catch the tea he'd just spilled. "That _is_ an unusual wand. Do you know what sort of creature a selkie is?" He looked over at Minerva, raising his eyebrows in a question. She shook her head slightly, giving him a mysterious wink in reply.

"Not yet I don't, but I think Madam Pince can help me find some references," Rollins said enthusiastically. He speared another segment of fried-green tomato; the disks were large, nearly four inches across. "Did you try these? They're a special dish over in the States."

Minerva selected one from the platter, passing it across to Albus. "Peppery, but I like the flavors of fresh tomatoes from your gardening efforts. Did Topher help you with the breakfast? It is a lovely surprise."

Brian's cheeks turned a little pink. "I'm glad you were surprised. Yes, he helped me plan the menu; I told him about a tradition we kids had back in Maine, especially after Frank finished a busy term of teaching. He and Juliet… well, I'll put it this way… we made sure they had time to relax together." Brian's blush deepened slightly and he shrugged.

Albus, mirroring his son's gesture and blush, patted Brian's shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "It's marvelous, and very thoughtful. Madam Pince usually takes a short holiday in early July; if she doesn't have a reference, I probably do in my private library here." Dumbledore nodded his head toward a narrow door.

"I'm guessing it'll be in the 'Care of Magical Creatures' section," Brian said, and then he leaned closer to Albus, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And Dad, I gotta tell you that Mom has already assigned me an essay on selkies—_eighteen_ inches worth on my summer holiday!" The boy kept a serious expression on his face but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

The Headmaster looked over at his Deputy, who was sipping her tea innocently. Albus opened his mouth but no sounds came out, a little disbelieving that she would assign homework that soon to an incoming second year student (and not to mention, her own son).

"Really?" Albus asked, finding his voice after one or two heartbeats. Brian and Minerva glanced at each other, and they both burst out laughing.

"No, not really," Minerva told him, dabbing at the corner of one eye as she caught her breath. She smiled warmly at both wizards. "It was Brian's idea to play a wee joke on you though since _he_ set the essay assignment for himself."

Albus chuckled and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. He found the _Daily Prophet_ folded on the tea cart, shaking it out casually to scan the headlines, and looked at the two of them over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Mmhmm. I'll be sure to remember that then." He tried, unsuccessfully, to sound admonishing. Albus realized yet again how much he appreciated his young son's sense of humor.

Brian just laughed, checked his wristwatch and rose from the table. "I need to meet with Professor Sprout," he said, leaning over to kiss Minerva's cheek, and then Albus'. "See you later." He sneezed once when Albus' whiskers tickled his nose.

"Don't forget your castle password," McGonagall reminded him helpfully. "Otherwise you won't be able to get back in."

"I won't. 'Splendid Splinter' is easy to remember," he replied, tucking his wand into the carpenter's pocket of his jeans. He took one more piece of whole-wheat toast and left the suite, munching happily on it.

Minerva reached across the table for a section of the newspaper, and then she and Albus moved to the sofa to read in companionable silence, occasionally sharing an interesting article or wizarding photograph. In continuing their private first-day-of-summer-holidays tradition, they would return to bed later for a "nap".

-/-/-/-/-/-

Whistling softly to himself, Brian made his way down from the Headmaster's tower, out the front doors of the castle and across the grounds to Greenhouse One where he had arranged to meet with Professor Sprout. So intent was he as he scanned the thriving vegetable garden that he nearly ran over Professor Flitwick as he exited.

Brian winced, his strong hands reaching immediately to keep the tiny wizard from falling. "Sorry, sir. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Filius chuckled as he regained his feet. "Neither was I, I'm afraid. No worries!" He glanced back at a prettily blushing Pomona Sprout and surreptitiously ran his index finger around to check the collar of his outer robes. "Before I bid you hard working green-thumbs good morning, how did your exam marks turn out?"

Pomona smiled warmly. "Indeed, Brian. How did you do?" She straightened her smock as best she could and hoped that Brian wouldn't interpret much from her slightly disheveled appearance.

Rollins grinned at the question, seemingly oblivious to her mild embarrassment; these really were two of his favorite teachers at the school, apart from his Mom and Dad of course. "Outstanding in Astronomy, Herbology and Transfiguration; Exceeds Expectations in Charms, History of Magic and Potions… that one surprised me actually; and Acceptable in Defense."

Flitwick clapped him on the forearm. "Well done, young man. That was a particularly neat trick with the pineapple in my final… I think I told you about that one, Pomona dearest." The first-year student had added a musical accompaniment to the Charmed dancing pineapple for the practical portion of Filius' exam.

"Thank you, Professor," Brian replied modestly.

Pomona bent to kiss Filius' cheek once more. "Right. I'm off to practice a bit this morning; Albus kindly let me reserve and modify the Great Hall," he said, and with that he turned to head back across the grounds. Flitwick definitely had an extra spring in his step this morning.

Professor Sprout chuckled at Brian's confused look. "My husband is a champion duelist. Not many students know that."

Brian nodded, smiling at the reminder that he had even asked her about Professor Flitwick some months before (she'd rather gratefully acknowledged his perceptiveness). "Now that you say it, I recall that Hermione told me something like that from her reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ but I'm not familiar with dueling over here. Surely not pistols or swords!"

Pomona laughed brightly, looking up at her Gryffindor assistant. "Wizard's duel. Come on, I'll explain as we get started inside." She handed him a pair of fluffy green earmuffs, pulling a pink set out of a pocket of her robes, and resting them around her neck. Brian looked curiously at the earmuffs for a second, and then mimicked her gesture, following her as she walked to Greenhouse Three.

Just inside the door, as the high humidity hit them in their faces, Sprout leaned to take up a fresh bag of "Madam Ceres" brand potting soil. "Would you mind grabbing one as well, Brian? You can use your wand if you like… I won't report you!" The plump Herbology mistress giggled to herself, heaving the bag easily to her shoulder. She was wearing her usual tan work-smock over her robes.

The boy nodded, remembering the letters he and his classmates had received during a year-end house meeting with McGonagall. "I usually forget that I have one, Professor," he said, shaking his head. "Even after a year at school, I'm still not used to the idea of magic—and I've been hauling things around in the garden with my Mom for ages."

Pomona laughed again. "Too true. I have always liked to do some chores as the Muggles do, otherwise I'd get no exercise at all. Are you still swimming across the Black Lake?" She stopped at a large wooden potting bench, covered with several rather full trays of nondescript green seedlings. Each plant was no more than a few inches tall.

Brian put his bag of soil on the floor where Sprout indicated, looking curiously at the as yet unlabeled plants. Some of them moved jerkily back and forth, but he had long since grown accustomed to that particular quirk of magical plants.

"I hope to go for a swim later today. It should be sunny, and the water's not quite as cold as it was last week." He grinned, thinking of how some of his fellow students had tried getting wet in the still-frigid lake and had quickly exited shortly thereafter. "I haven't chatted with Elliot much since exams ended." Brian thought fondly of his friend the Giant squid, who now had a beautiful mate called Miriam.

"Good," she replied, dusting off her hands and pulling a tray of empty, square nursery pots to her work-station. "Right. It's time to get these little lads into the next larger pots—I don't want them getting root-bound if we can help it."

Brian looked over the full trays, mentally counting: there seemed to be well over two-hundred seedlings, but he was used to caring for this volume of plants. He also knew that you had to start many more seedlings than would survive to maturity; sometimes seeds did not germinate, or young seedlings "damped-off" due to fungi or other pathogens shortly after they germinated.

"Okay. What are we repotting, Professor? I don't recognize the leaves on these."

Pomona smiled kindly at her young assistant. "You wouldn't yet. These are mandrakes, which you will begin working with in second-year Herbology—in fact, most of this lot will be ready for you in September with your classmates. It doesn't look like much now, but mandrake is an extremely useful Potions ingredient, in particular the remedy for Petrification, and they can be troublesome to handle. Here, these are small but I want you to be ready with your earmuffs if it gets too loud."

She reached for one of the seedlings, snipping open the bag of potting soil with her free hand, and carefully held up a gnarled little mandragora. It was merely two and a half inches long, tremendously ugly and it was emitting a continuous high-pitched squeal until it was happily covered with warm soil again in the square nursery pot.

Brian grimaced but had not otherwise moved; he could see how the noise would eventually induce a headache. "Ouch."

"The cry gets much louder as they mature. In fact, the sound could kill you from a fully-grown mandrake root but these wee ones are mainly very, _very_ annoying. I use earmuffs for so many otherwise I'll have a screaming migraine by lunchtime!" With a broad grin, Pomona clapped her fluffy pink earmuffs into place, and jerked her chin toward her office door. "There are some extra dragon-skin work-gloves if you need them."

Rollins just shrugged, and put on his earmuffs; if his Professor was comfortable working bare-handed then so was he. "I'm good, ma'am, thanks," he said, beginning the important task of repotting a wriggling tray of seedlings.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Two hours later, soil-covered, sweaty and pleasantly tired, Brian made his way out to the tomato gardens to check on his special projects. Professor Sprout had generously provided lunch with the help of her house-elf; a wizened little one called "Piper", who had known the Herbology Mistress and her husband for more than thirty years now. Brian finished the last two bites of his thick brown-sugar-glazed ham sandwich as he wandered through the first row of healthy black-cherry tomatoes; each fragrant green shrub was laden with purplish fruits that would be ready to harvest in a day or two.

"Hi, silly girl," the young man called quietly to his cat, Zoë, as she made her way easily along the rows ahead of him. She chirruped in reply and leapt to his shoulder as he was bent over adjusting the circular aluminum cage for a large-fruited "Better Boy" tomato plant. Each row of tomatoes was interspersed with mildly aromatic yellow and orange-flowered marigolds as companions to reduce the insect pests. Leaves of fresh sweet basil made a pretty counterpoint to the flowers (and were also effective pest repellants in their own right).

"Sure," he said with a chuckle, reaching up to tickle her chin. The lithe little animal was just the right size to rest her front paws across the front of his shoulder as her hind legs gripped his shirtsleeve. It was her habit to find him in the gardens, or elsewhere in the castle, and ride along for a short while.

Zoë stayed with him for a half-hour or so before she licked his ear with a friendly purr, and leapt off to find other adventures (or, perhaps a better napping spot). Brian was contemplating a nap by the lakeshore when he heard an outburst of raucous laughter coming from several rosebushes. He smiled, realizing that he hadn't seen or chatted with the gnomes in a few weeks.

"Blimey! That's a big 'un!" shouted one of the gnomes in surprise when Brian brushed through the rosemary fronds and sat in their midst. This particular gnome leapt up in fright, his eyes goggling, and he nearly ran off before one of his comrades stopped him.

"Easy there, easy. That's our mate Brian," said the eldest of the gnomes. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a speech impediment, and it always sounded like "Bwian" when he spoke to the young wizard. "Haven't seen you in a while… all's well in the castle?"

Brian grinned, reaching for a cherry tomato from the pile they had gathered, popping it into his mouth. "Absolutely. We finished with exams and I'll stay for most of the summer holidays." This announcement was greeted with murmurs of approval from the half-dozen or so other gnomes; each one was short—barely to the boy's shin in height, stout, and extremely grey and wrinkly. All of them had bare, knobby heads that were at least two sizes too large for their bodies.

He leaned back in the grass, resting on his elbows. "How have you fellows been? Not making too much trouble out here for Professor Sprout have you, Guzzle?"

"Nay, never lad," said the eldest gnome with a pointy-toothed smile. He seemed to be the leader of the colony, such as it was. "Just watching out for them big cats from the castle mainly and that giant of a groundskeeper ye've got here." Several gnomes laughed out loud at this; Brian smiled and raised his eyebrows in a friendly way.

The newcomer gnome perked up when Brian mentioned the Herbology mistress. "D'ya mean that fat witch what comes out here regular?" He was rewarded with a hard smack on the back of his head from the gnome seated to his left. "Hey! Gerroff me, Jake! What'd ya do that for?"

Brian could never remember if this one was "Ugly Jake" or "Wee Jake" since he had trouble telling them apart, and he nodded at him to acknowledge his admonishment of the newcomer.

"Show a bit of respect for the Professor, Bren," said Jake the gnome. Several of the others muttered their agreement.

The gnome called Bren simply scowled and rubbed at the tender knot on the back of his head. Brian smiled and held out his hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm Brian, a student here at Hogwarts."

Bren blinked and looked at the other gnomes, wondering what to do. At last he reached out his tiny gnarled fingers to shake hands with the boy. "Cheers, then."

The smallest gnome, who for some strange reason was known as "Big Ian" in this particular gnome colony, chuckled. "Aw, well, Bren here has never talked nice like to a wizard. It's a new experience fer 'im!"

"Or to an American I'll bet," Brian commented. Several gnomes guffawed at this, squirting tomato juice and seeds on their chins.

Bren grinned sheepishly. "No, can't say as I have. Bloody hell… and you're a Yank?" He still looked incredulous.

Brian shrugged. "Yes, but I live here now. Professor Sprout is my Herbology teacher, Bren, and she knows all about you guys living on the grounds. I had to ask one of the other students about the de-gnoming of the castle gardens once, and someone told me about using Jarveys for that purpose. I didn't like the idea…"

"Nor me," said Guzzle (whose real name was David) in a shaky voice. He bit into a tiny green and yellow cucumber, heaving a sigh of enjoyment. "These are really good, by the way, Bwian."

"Glad to hear it. I'll have to find out the variety name if you want." Brian shifted his legs, sitting more comfortably between the rose bushes. "So Bren, yes, I got special permission from Professor Sprout for the guys to stay; I know you have families to raise and she's cool with it as long as the colony doesn't get too large. You're visiting this summer?"

Bren's eyes widened, surprised that the wizard had picked out his slightly different accent from the rest (and not to mention the fact that Brian was talking with gnomes as if they were friends and neighbors). "Erm, yeah. I hitched a ride all the way up from Bristol." He bit the inner side of his cheek thoughtfully. "And you really got permission to let these gnomes stay here in the gardens? Wizardin' folk don't usually keep us'ns around you know."

Brian reached into his pocket, drew his wand and summoned a small plastic garden statue from the other side of the society garlic plants. He caught a figure, dressed in a yellow jacket and red hat, turning it carefully to show Guzzle and the rest. "How about these?" He grinned at their reactions of somewhat amused disgust.

Wee Jake laughed, shaking his head and pointing at the figurine. "I cannot believe you put that Muggle-style bugger in here, mate. That's not a _real_ gnome!"

Big Ian snickered, knuckling Brian's leg. "Nobbut fat little Father Christmases, that's what they are, Sunny Jim."

Rollins just shrugged, still smiling good-naturedly. "Yeah, but this is what I grew up with, guys… _Muggle-style_. I think he's funny, don't you?" He placed the plastic "gnome" statue on the ground next to him so that it was facing the group and participating in the conversation.

Brian spent the better part of the next hour, visiting with the gnomes (and promising to grow Brussels sprouts for them to enjoy later that year as part of the winter crops), when he finally got to his feet, brushed off his blue jeans, and took his leave of them. Since he was getting rather sleepy, he thought a dip in the lake would perk him up until dinner.

By the time he walked back up to the castle steps, the afternoon shadows were lengthening and Brian was feeling rather hungry. His swim in the lake was chilly but pleasant, and he'd visited with Elliot for a little while—offering his congratulations for the egg-pouch that the Giant squid's mate was now looking after. He reminded himself that he wanted to look up the biology of _Architeuthis_ if he could find anything in the school library.

As he passed the Great Hall, he peeked in an open door and practically skidded to a halt. Just inside the large wooden door, he could see Sir Nicholas floating above a chair and watching Professor Flitwick at his practice. Brian knitted his brow, a little confused at what was supposed to be dueling: it seemed more like dancing with his wand drawn defensively, and the tiny Charms master was dressed in tight-fitting black trousers and a gleaming white shirt. He stepped quietly in, whispering a greeting to Nick, and finally recognized the music that was loudly playing. It was Ravel's "Bolero" and Flitwick was moving quickly and gracefully in a _paso doble_-style.

Filius stopped at the end of the musical movement, giving a self-satisfied nod. He turned and saw the young wizard by the entry door and smiled.

"Oh! Come in, come in, Mr. Rollins my boy," said Flitwick, wiping the sweat from his face with a clean towel. "I know you are an accomplished dancer… would you like to try?"

TBC

A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Anyway, I don't expect real life to slow down in any way but thank you for reading this far. "Companion planting" is a real gardening topic, as is the genus name for Giant squids! More to come, I sincerely promise.


	27. Chapter 27

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).

A/N: Brian has begun dueling lessons with Professor Flitwick and is continuing his Animagus training with Minerva and Albus. If you are familiar with a story by MMADfan called "Resolving a Misunderstanding", you may have already met the character "Malcolm McGonagall", Minerva's brother. His name and part of his story is borrowed here, with permission, specifically from a chapter entitled "A Spree".

_**Chapter 27/??**_

_**A Dance and A Duelist**_

Brian could not remember when he had ever been so energized after two hours or so of dancing lessons. This was no ordinary exercise though; now, under the tutelage of Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House and Charms master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the young wizard was learning to duel as wizarding folk dueled. His years of dance training allowed him to see the wisdom of working on skilled footwork in addition to the spells he was trying to cast against his opponent.

He was, at the moment, in his lightweight pajamas and lying face-down on the floor in front of a warmly blazing fireplace in Headmaster Dumbledore's suite, reading _Water Shapers_ by William L. McCafferty. A brief visit to Madam Pince before dinner had been surprisingly productive for his research on selkies; throughout the school year, Brian had endeared himself to the elderly witch as a rare student who truly appreciated librarians, and was not intimidated by her often very stern appearance. Since the youngster had grown up spending plenty of time in Muggle University libraries, he didn't think it was unusual at all to ask her advice or help with reference books. His closest friends simply chalked it up to yet another of the American's idiosyncrasies.

"This is not turning out as well as I had hoped, my boy," Albus commented from his seat at the Charmed table. "It looks like you and your mother will have to battle it out for this night's backgammon tournament winner."

Minerva chuckled and took a sip of her chamomile tea. "I did give you the option of chess, dearest." With one more roll of the dice, she moved her last white disk to the home side of the board; Albus had no less than three stranded disks on the bar.

"True," said Albus with a smile, rising and then leaning over to kiss her on the lips. "You did, as always, my love. Brian—it's your turn, lad." Dumbledore moved to the sofa as Brian slid into the empty chair, placing his book on the end table. "I don't know that I have read this one; Madam Pince is so good at keeping her references updated at faculty requests. How is it?"

Brian grinned as he gently tapped his mother's right hand; she opened it to reveal a single white disk and he began to set up those pieces on his side of the backgammon board. "I like it, better than the _Fantastic Beasts_ book anyway. What's his name… Newt Scamander says that the Loch Ness monster is actually a very large selkie. I don't agree," he said, giving a little shrug. He grinned again, his eyes taking on a decidedly cheeky glint.

"But I may get to go see for myself: I got a note from Frank and Juliette today. We're going to visit Drumnadrochit when they come over in August… either before or after the Edinburgh Festival, I'm not sure yet. Archie said he wanted to see Fort William, too. Something about all of the rain they get there."

Minerva laughed out loud at this. "Only you who can swim with a giant squid would want to see if you could also swim with Nessie, young man. Brian, you are an adventurous one!"

Brian only smiled, shaking his cup to roll the dice. "It could happen."

As the evening passed, the three of them enjoyed the rare, quiet family time together; each of them already dressed for bed. Minerva and Brian were fairly closely matched at the game, and Albus skimmed through the boy's library book. From time to time, Brian would hum under his breath, not realizing that he was even doing it (yet another of Albus' habits that he had unconsciously picked up).

"Tum tum tum," repeated Dumbledore, matching the tempo of his son's humming. "What is that tune? I'm sure I know it from somewhere." He continued to vocalize the notes, his brow knitted as he tried to identify the fast-tempo musical piece.

Brian shrugged, looking up from the board. "I should know it too but I can't for the life of me pick out the name. Professor Flitwick was playing it earlier… he said it was a good warm-up for his practice."

McGonagall finished her turn of backgammon, and flicked her wand at the Wizarding music box that rested on the mantle. It chattered and skipped through several short segments, until finally, the distinctive tones of Khachaturian's "Sabre Dance" played. She adjusted the volume with a satisfied nod, and returned her wand to the end table beside her.

"That's it!" Brian exclaimed, beaming at her. He stage-whispered behind his hand toward Albus: "Mom's really good at this."

Albus just laughed, winking at Minerva as she refreshed her cup of tea. "Very nice. It sounds like Filius is adding some new tunes to his dueling-dancing. I feared it would be Bizet forever!"

Brian stifled a yawn, and completed his turn at the board. "He did play Bizet—'Carmen', I think. And 'Bolero'."

"By Ravel, also a nice one," Albus commented. He leaned over to inspect the backgammon disks, curious as to how the final match was going.

"I was hoping for 'Ride of the Valkyries'," Brian said with a soft giggle. "Maybe next time."

"Remind me sometime to tell you about your uncle Malcolm," Minerva said, smiling at the memory of her oldest brother. "He and Albus dueled as part of a job interview here at the school. This was before you were born, in fact."

"No kidding?" Brian asked, shaking his dice cup to start his next turn. He was delighted, as always, to hear more about his relatives throughout Great Britain. "What did he teach?"

"Defense," replied Minerva. "Let's save the story for another day, though, shall we?"

Brian was sensitive to his mother's moods, and though he wondered what would make her seem sad about his uncle, he immediately agreed. The mention of Defense against the Dark Arts did remind Albus of the job advertisement he'd just posted in the _Daily_ _Prophet_, as well as a few other publications. He hoped to interview qualified applicants well before the warding of the castle that traditionally occurred on the first of August each year.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Let's try this tactic, Brian," Flitwick suggested, thinking back many years to when he'd first begun dueling for sport. "Your left hand is naturally your defensive posture, I think. Cast a Shield spell to block, and use your wand hand for an attacking spell—you've learned the Stinging hexes in my class, in fact!"

Brian frowned as he sat in front of the tiny wizard, listening attentively as the Charms Master coached him (and he knew that Filius was a champion duelist before he came to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry). They had already warmed up to the quick stepping of "Bolero", and were now perspiring in the afternoon humidity of the Great Hall. The long tables and benches had been placed into storage by the castle House-elves until they were needed when students returned to the school in September.

"Yes, sir, I think I can do that."

Filius toweled off his face and neck. "We will add the nonverbal spells later. You can use those very effectively in combination." He had already reassured Brian that many of the dueling spells were well within his grasp, but that nonverbal spells were typically not taught until the sixth year curriculum at Hogwarts.

Brian grinned and got to his feet, shaking his arms to loosen the muscles. "Cool."

The boy stood where Filius directed him, and held his wand at the ready while the Head of Ravenclaw twitched his own wand toward the music box. He let it cycle through several pieces of music before he nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright Mr. Rollins," he said with a smile as the invisible Wagnerian orchestra began to play. "You requested the 'Valkyries', I believe?"

Brian bowed in the traditional manner as he faced his opponent. "Yes, sir."

"Ready? Good."

As the music swelled around them, Brian practiced blocking the Stinging hexes that Professor Flitwick hurled at him. Occasionally, one got through and struck the young wizard in the arm, leg or torso, but after a while, his Shield spells were successful and Filius' hexes or jinxes bounced harmlessly away. Flitwick called for a break after another fifteen minutes. He had found out early on that he did not need to hold back much on the force of his spell casting. Rollins had a great deal of natural talent, but his control of it still needed some refining. This was completely expected in a second year student.

"That was very well done, young man," he said, his voice full of pride for his student. They walked companionably to the stool where a pitcher and two glasses rested. "Now, tell me about that last Shield, the one that resonated so well." His dark eyes twinkled as he recalled how the "bong" had echoed loudly through the Great Hall when his Stinger bounced from it. It had been louder even than their music before it faded away.

Brian took a sip of cool water, and tucked his wand away in a pocket of his trousers. For comfort and freedom of movement, both he and Flitwick wore loose white shirts and tighter-fitting dark blue slacks.

"I think I tried the _Expelliarmus_ with my wand," said Brian, raising his empty right hand. "And relaxed my other hand with the _Protego_. It was just natural motions." He demonstrated as he spoke, and Professor Flitwick merely smiled and nodded, letting the youngster draw his own conclusions.

Brian grinned broadly, sweeping his left hand in front of his body in a slow arc, careful not to spill from the water goblet he held. The movement, though a slower tempo, matched the flow of the music. "And that's probably why it worked so well."

"Indeed," said Filius, chuckling softly. "Whenever I tell students to relax, it often has the opposite effect. I'm sure you can recall several examples of that from last spring!"

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Filius, dear," called Pomona as she entered their suite in the Ravenclaw tower. She tossed her well-worn and patched hat to the coat tree by the door, and sighed with pleasure as she toed off her gardening shoes and padded toward the bathroom in her bare feet. The Herbology mistress had been daydreaming of a cooling soak, just before the staff dinner, all afternoon; the early summer sun, although pleasant and necessary for most of the plants under her attentive care, had been scorching the back of her neck even through her sunscreen charms.

"Are you alright, Fil?" she asked softly, hearing water running as she entered.

"I'm here, darling," Filius replied, an involuntary groan escaping his lips when he reached for a bluish potion vial on the side of the tub. He drank down the potion (his wife recognized it as a mild pain-relieving draught) and sat back with his eyes closed. Pomona could smell the aloe extracts and calming lavender bubbles in the water, and she stifled a giggle since she had a pretty good guess as to why Flitwick was soaking away his aches in the bath on that particular early July evening.

Sprout put a carefully sympathetic look on her face as she undressed, removing her outer robes and sitting on the bench to brush out her hair. "So, did you gents have a good session this afternoon?" Filius heard the amusement in her tone, and opened one eye before he spoke, watching as she gestured to send the potting soil-dusted tan robe to the laundry basket.

"We did, thank you. It was quite… enthusiastic," he said a bit sheepishly when he noticed the way her mouth was quirking up at the corners. Pomona looked at him warmly and finally gave in to her laughter.

"Poor you," she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "I know you had fun, but I wish you'd take it easy, Fil. At your age, after all…"

Filius chuckled ruefully. "I should know better. Here, come share my bubbles with me; the aloe will be good treatment for your sunburn." He winked another kind of invitation and held out a soapy hand to help her into the tub.

Pomona raised one eyebrow, still smiling. "Indeed?"

He raised an eyebrow back at her, his chocolate-brown eyes sparkling when she stood at the mirror and removed the rest of her clothing. "Oh, absolutely. And perhaps we could negotiate further massages and so forth; strictly therapeutic, of course, my dear."

Her answering chuckle made his knees positively weak and made him glad that he was sitting down as the blood rushed straight to his groin. Surprisingly graceful (and many outside of Hogwarts underestimated her much to their chagrin due to her soft-seeming plumpness), Pomona took his hand and then eased into the warm, fragrant water behind him, reaching to rub the muscles at the tops of his shoulders and upper arms. For some reason, Flitwick always got sore there when he dueled (or "practiced" dueling).

"How is your apprentice progressing?" she asked with a teasing lilt in her voice as he groaned happily at the way she kneaded his deltoid muscles; her strong fingers exerted just the right amount of pressure. "I remember you had concerns about his nonverbal spells or something."

Filius slumped his head forward as she dug into the knotted muscles at the back of his neck, wincing at first and then sighing as he relaxed. "I've never seen anything like him, Pomona, truly; I mean, we only got started last week, and Brian is already using verbal and nonverbal spells in combination." He reached to kiss her hand when she retrieved the soapy pouf he'd been using. "Wandless as well, if you can believe that. I asked Albus to come watch for a bit today, and he didn't seem at all surprised. There must have been something special about his early years over in the States; I'd always assumed that Brian was raised in a Muggle household."

Pomona paused to wash her own arms and chest before resuming the impromptu massage. She made a small sound of interest. "He's only just completed his first year at school so Mr. Rollins should be careful not to overdo it too. Still a growing boy, after all."

"And an excellent student from what we've both seen," said Filius, shrugging. "Albus was rather interested, and said something about consulting with Nurse Pomfrey about that very thing, in fact. The castle herself can help protect him from a magical accident in our duels."

"Or dances?" she asked with a grin. "Don't think I didn't see those awful blisters on your feet the other night, silly wizard."

Filius laughed, carefully standing up in the water to turn around and face her; the sun had kissed her nose and her cheeks a rather appealing pink. He held onto the sides of the bathtub and leaned to kiss her lips, using the sensuous pauses to punctuate his words: "I promise to wear more sensible shoes. I promise not to duel with Albus Dumbledore like we did thirty years ago. I promise to make love to you until neither of us can move."

Pomona Sprout flushed as she looked at his glistening chest, warmth rising to her face that had nothing to do with the sun or the warm bathwater. "We'll be late for dinner."

Flitwick shrugged, leaning further to rub his aroused body against her soft skin. "Probably."

TBC

A/N: we are getting closer to year 2 and HP-CoS. I admit I'm anxious for Brian to meet Professor Lockhart! Thank you for reading. I hope your summer finds you well and happy.


	28. Chapter 28

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).

A/N: Brian and Albus plan a little _Animagus_ surprise for Minerva. Later, Brian is taken ill and must be treated by Nurse Pomfrey.

_**Chapter 28/??**_

_**The Hound of Hogwarts**_

Albus leaned to retrieve the short willow tree branch, and laughed at the expectant, albeit lop-sided, look he was getting from his companion on their early afternoon walk on the castle grounds. A pleasant cool breeze was coming in from the Black Lake, and the giant squids were lazing in the shallows near shore.

"Alright, alright," he said, chuckling and preparing to throw the stick toward the Black Lake. "Patience is a virtue for all of us, young fellow, including a wizard's best friend."

"Woof!" was the enthusiastic and rather insistent reply, but the Headmaster's companion was no ordinary canine. In continuing with Brian's Animagus training that summer, Dumbledore had suggested that they try out another form. And here, on a bright sunny mid-July afternoon, he was playing fetch with his son… who at the moment was temporarily Transformed, by means of a _Canis verto _spell into a lively black and white Border collie.

Watching while Brian-as-dog raced after the stick that had been tossed for him, Albus shook his head fondly and conjured a sailcloth-covered shaded glider to sit upon. He grinned at the stripes, realizing that he'd once again unconsciously used Gryffindor house colors of scarlet and gold. Dumbledore had been Head of House before rising to the post of Headmaster in the 1940s, and often utilized that particular color palette in his Transfigurations. He settled on the seat, propping his feet up on the brace, and he could feel the tingle of Brian's magic as the young wizard loped back across the grassy slope, completely delighting in the strength and agility of his new form.

The handsome Border collie flopped to the turf in front of the glider, panting; his large blue eyes were focused on the elder wizard's face, and he held the stick loosely in his mouth. Brian-as-dog dropped it, once again looking eagerly up at Albus. Dumbledore Summoned it to his outstretched hand.

"I may have to charm our retrieving stick to throw _itself_ if you keep at this, son," he said, smiling and gesturing with the stick. "Perhaps we could get a few sheep for you to herd here on the lawn, eh? I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Woof, bow-woof!"

Albus laughed, taking this for an agreement. He was about to draw his wand from a pocket of his robes, when Brian-as-dog suddenly got to his feet and barked in the direction of Hagrid's hut. A few moments later, Fang, the groundskeeper's enormous boarhound came bounding and slobbering toward them.

"Fang! Geddown yeh daft mutt," Hagrid called breathlessly as he hurried over, fully expecting to have to break up a fearsome canine squabble. He grabbed Fang by his collar, hauling him away from the Border collie. Both dogs wagged their tails at each other but neither one was exhibiting any kind of threatening behavior. This was particularly interesting because Fang was at least four times bigger than Brian.

Brian-as-dog barked again, wagging his tail and his rear end enthusiastically, dropping down so that his chest brushed the grass… an invitation to play. He whined until Hagrid released his own dog to pat him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Fang, Perfesser. His manners leave a lot to be desired," said Hagrid, stroking the collie's ears with both hands after patting Fang on the back. "What a bonny fellow, sir. I didn't know you had a dog." The gentle half-giant loved all creatures, most especially dogs and dragons.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Albus replied. "He's here off and on for the summer, I believe." Dumbledore chuckled when Brian-as-dog yipped at him again and pointedly stared at the stick which he had rested on the arm of the glider.

"What's his name? He looks rather keen with those bright eyes of his."

Albus grinned at the compliment, tamping down his mild feeling of guilt at the ruse he and Brian were carrying out. "Fly, because of the way he likes to run. Here you go!" And with that, he threw the stick down the slope; Brian-as-dog, or rather, Fly, ran at top speed, easily out-distancing the much larger Fang as he grabbed the branch and returned to Albus' feet.

"He _is_ a fly one!" Hagrid exclaimed, laughing heartily and clapping his shovel-sized hands. "He could do awfully well at the Muggles' sheep trials… if you were so inclined."

At Dumbledore's invitation, Hagrid sat on the ground beside the glider, demurring Albus' offer to conjure him a similar, if proportionally larger chair. They chatted and visited for a while, watching the two dogs chase and rough-house with each other. Hagrid's loyalty to the Headmaster really was boundless, all the way back to the time he'd been in Gryffindor House during his short three-year term as a student at the school—prior to his false accusation and unfortunate expulsion, but that is a tale for later chapters, isn't it?

Hagrid just happened to look toward the main gates, and Albus felt a pleasant tingle as Minerva Apparated and gave her Deputy Headmistress password for re-entry to the castle grounds.

"I'll head up and finish mah rounds, then, Perfesser," he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his trouser legs. He smiled and nodded at Dumbledore before he called Fang to his side, giving McGonagall a wave of friendly greeting. "Good afternoon, sir, and thank you."

"I have enjoyed our visit very much, my boy," said Albus sincerely. He reached to stroke Fly's silky ears as the groundskeeper made his way toward the Forbidden Forest and the Greenhouses. "How about a few sheep to demonstrate for your Mum? What do you say to that, lad?" He held the dog's muzzle in his hand, marveling at the new look with which Brian seemed entirely at home.

Fly barked energetically, wagging his tail and squirming with anticipation as he glanced over to see Professor McGonagall waving and walking toward them. If dogs could smile, Brian-as-dog was smiling rather broadly just then. At a soft whistle from Dumbledore, he raced off several yards and dropped to the turf, his eyes never leaving the Headmaster's face.

"Good afternoon, dearest!" Albus said cheerfully, kissing her cheek as she joined him. A subtle wave of his wand and the glider became a two-seater. "Did you have a pleasant trip over to Edinburgh?"

Minerva smiled at his welcome. "I did. It was good to see my cousin and her new shop; I really don't visit as often as I should, so it was a good idea. Thank you, Albus." This last was in response to his offer of a cool glass of lemonade.

"Mmm, my pleasure," he said in a low voice. "Perhaps you can thank me _again_, later?" She laughed at the innuendo, and squeezed his hand. "Would you like to see a brief demonstration? You might enjoy this!"

Looking in the direction that he was pointing his wand, Minerva finally saw the attractive Border collie, waiting patiently for Albus to conjure his flock of sheep. In another heartbeat, six wooly Romney Marsh ewes appeared, noisily calling to each other as they too, caught sight of the shepherding dog.

"Oh my! I haven't seen sheepdog trials in years," she commented with a grin. "But Albus, where is Brian? He might like this as well." She turned and looked over her shoulder back toward the main steps of the castle.

His eyes twinkling as he glanced over at the dog, Albus nodded, giving a sharp whistle. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere, my dear."

"Up you get, Fly," Albus called, and the dog rose at once, creeping toward the ewes. He watched them closely, trotting left and right as the sheep huddled shoulder to shoulder. Dumbledore whistled once, then twice more and Fly scooted to his right, driving the sheep to their right as they faced the Border collie. Minerva's eyes widened when she realized that she could feel the tingle of Brian's magical signature very close by, and that it was _he_ who was herding the sheep at Albus' whistled and spoken commands.

"Good lad!" said Albus, twitching his wand once more so that a small wooden paddock appeared with its white-washed three-rail gate wide open for the sheep to enter.

"Is that really he?" she asked, stifling a laugh. "I don't know that I've ever heard of a working-dog Animagus before!"

"I don't think either of us expected his canine form to be this particular breed," Albus said. "He simply concentrated on being a dog during our session earlier, and this is the form he took when I cast the spell for him."

Minerva looked thoughtful as she gently rocked the glider with her foot. "Well, if you recall the photographs from his childhood with the Rollins family…"

Albus chuckled, squeezing her into a one-armed hug and placing a kiss on her hair. "You are right; I hadn't thought of that. There were two Border collies, weren't there?"

"Rex and Fly," Minerva added.

Albus laughed again. "And here I thought I was being clever with the name!" He shook his head, still laughing at himself.

While they had been talking, Fly the collie had guided the small flock of sheep into the enclosure, and ran back to the pair seated on the scarlet and gold striped glider. He propped his front paws up on the armrest beside Minerva, his mouth wide in a doggie smile for his mother. Albus grinned his approval, and banished the sheep and their pen with a subtle wave of his wand.

Minerva stroked the dog's ears and head, laughing as he further insinuated his snout under her hand if she paused even for a moment.

"This is a very good look for you, Brian," she said warmly, momentarily resting her forehead on his. "I normally think of myself as a cat person as you know well, but I may have to make an exception for this bonny little collie…"

Brian-as-dog barked at the joke, his pink tongue lolling over her wrist as he panted. Minerva just laughed when he briefly rested his warm muzzle on her knee, his blue eyes sparkling at her. She felt a rush of love as her son flopped to the turf, yawning and showing dozens of flawless white teeth. He rolled over onto his back, scratching against the grass and obviously enjoying the sensation. When he finally sat up, he looked expectantly at Albus.

"Good idea," Dumbledore agreed, nodding at the unspoken but very clear request. "I think I'm getting hungry for sandwiches and tea myself."

Brian barked in reply and patiently waited for the _Finite_ _Incantatum_ from his father. Moments later, he had returned to his human form and was sitting cross-legged in front of the glider, a few stray bits of grass and leaves clinging to his head and shoulders.

"Hi, Mom, surprise," he said, grinning broadly up at her. "That was a lot of fun!"

-/-/-/-/-/-

It was dark but Brian found his way as the sconces along the short hallway to his parents' bedroom came on faintly; not enough to be blinding, and he had learned to adjust them. He had awoken from a sound sleep with a splitting headache, and was now drenched with perspiration, even though he typically only slept in light-cotton pajama bottoms and kept one window open to the cool night air. His heart pounded and he bit his lip to stifle a moan of pain; he leaned heavily against one hand to support himself as he stumbled in the hallway.

It was several painful minutes before he reached Albus and Minerva's bedroom in the Headmaster's suite. Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly and urgently on the door. He pressed his cheek on the cool, smooth wood and felt a bead of sweat running down the left side of his face.

"Mom," he whispered, hoping she would hear. "Mom, I'm sorry. Oh, man…" Brian knocked again, groaning as he leaned against the doorjamb; a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him, and it seemed to be getting worse. He blinked rapidly and clenched his teeth, hoping he wouldn't pass out.

As he slumped to the floor, sliding down with the wall against his back, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. He looked with worry at the shaking of his hands, and he clenched his fists tightly to try and stop it.

"I'm coming, Brian," said Minerva, hurriedly drawing her dressing robe over her nightgown and trying to ignore the worry that clenched at her chest. "We'll be right there."

Not sure how long he waited there on the floor, Brian felt Albus' hands gently lifting his head, and he saw both of his parents looking at him with concern.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again, blinking to clear his blurry vision while Minerva cupped his feverish cheek. "I'm sick… like last time, at Christmas, but I don't know what caused it." He swallowed heavily, taking a deep breath against the nausea.

A tingle of magical Levitation, and Brian felt Albus helping him to stand, one arm lifting under each of his armpits. "Come on, lad, let's get you sitting more comfortably in here…"

"And I'll call Madam Pomfrey," Minerva added, heading over to the fireplace to make the Floo-call. Her attention was on making the call and she did not see that the boy was now taller than Albus' shoulder and a good four or five inches taller than she herself was.

Brian leaned heavily against Dumbledore, his unsteady feet not cooperating as he stumbled along to the sitting room. "I called Topher right away and asked him to bring the nurse. I'm sorry I woke you…"

Albus gently eased him into a chair, Summoning a cool cloth from the nearby bathroom as he did so. "No need to keep apologizing, my boy; that was quick thinking. Poppy will be here in no time." He smiled encouragingly as he wiped Brian's sweat-soaked face with the damp cloth and the elder wizard sat in another wing-backed chair, drawing it closer.

"Thanks, Dad," said Brian, sipping from the water glass Albus now held for him. He sighed and sat back, holding the cloth to his forehead. Minerva joined them and drew her wand to further adjust the chair upon which Brian rested.

"Here, child," she said softly, lengthening the seat with a wave of her wand. "Lift your legs up here and lie back. Madam Pomfrey will be here any minute."

Brian did as she instructed, and sure enough, the fireplace glowed with an eerie green light as the school nurse stepped through, looked around briefly to get her bearings and headed directly for the young wizard stretched out on the Transfigured chaise lounge.

"Well, what have we here?" she asked, nodding in silent greeting to Minerva and Albus. "Topher said you had taken suddenly ill, young man."

Brian sat up slightly, pulling himself up by the chair arms. "Yes, ma'am, almost like last time. My headache woke me up and I felt sick to my stomach."

"M-hmm," Poppy replied briskly, waving her wand over his head and chest to run several diagnostic spells. "No, just there is fine, Brian."

Minerva watched anxiously as the Head nurse scanned the obscure symbols that now floated above the boy. Albus reached to squeeze her hand reassuringly, though he too, was somewhat nervous. As a Potions Master, Dumbledore was familiar with some of the glyphs but for different purposes than Healing.

Poppy reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a tiny green crystal vial to hand to Brian; the boy's parents immediately recognized it as a fairly strong analgesic Headache potion, one often recommended for migraines.

"You'll need this, but wait just a moment and hold absolutely still please," she instructed, making two very intricate swishes with her wand. Brian's eyes went wide as he felt the peculiar popping and bubbling of the spell through his chest and abdomen.

"Magical core diagnostic, Brian," she explained without even waiting for him to ask his question. "I'm sure it felt very odd since it is your first one, hmm?"

"Yes, ma'am, it was weird," he agreed, curiously watching her as she studied the new set of symbols that rose from her wand. He glanced over at Minerva. "I actually feel a whole lot better right now, Mom. I bet it's just a summer cold—I seem to get them every July."

"I concur," said Poppy with a smile, not commenting on his self-diagnosis (and it probably was correct). "The asynchronicity adjusted itself at almost the same time that I cast the spell. Go ahead and take your Headache potion, and we'll get you back to bed."

Brian drank down the potion, now feeling a little foolish at making such a fuss—he truly felt much better than he had not five minutes prior. Madam Pomfrey had him remain seated while she held his wrist gently, checking his pulse and then looking at the way his eyes reacted to light.

"Have you been expending a lot of magic lately?" she asked, nodding with satisfaction at his other vital signs.

Brian shrugged, taking another glass of water from Albus to wash the metallic taste of the potion out of his mouth. "I guess you could say that. Gardening with Professor Sprout, dueling with Professor Flitwick, and we're still working on my Animagus training," he replied, easing forward with assistance from both Poppy and Minerva. "I ran around as a sheep dog for most of the afternoon… no, I didn't Transform myself. Not yet."

"That is rather a lot for a student on his summer holidays, I would say," commented Poppy, and then she gave a loud gasp of astonishment as he stood and towered over her. "And a significant growth spurt, apparently!"

Albus chuckled when he realized that he and Brian were looking at each other nearly eye to eye, and Minerva inexplicably blushed when she saw that her son was now gazing down at her, his own eyebrows rising in surprise.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM, AMPP and FFPS).

A/N: Brian is confined to bed rest for the remainder of the week, and his godfather visits Hogwarts. Hagrid and Brian are keeping an eye on the greenhouses and gardens while Professors Sprout and Flitwick are on their late-July holiday in southern France.

_**Chapter 29/??**_

_**The Dog days of summer**_

With Albus in daylong meetings at the Ministry of Magic (Cornelius Fudge had, yet again, begged Dumbledore for his advice and assistance), Minerva took advantage of the time and decided to finish a handful of articles she'd started earlier that spring for _Transfiguration Today_. It had been many months since she had had the opportunity to focus on them; that, and she would be close by if Brian needed her.

True to his self-diagnosis, Brian had contracted a seemingly ordinary "summer cold" and had spent the last three days in his bed up in the suite of the Headmaster's tower. Madam Pomfrey's potions gave him some relief from the coughing but most helpful was the uninterrupted rest. He had been given strict instructions not to use magic of any kind, just in case his fever was a symptom of a problem with his magical core and not merely a bad head cold with a cough.

Minerva pushed her reading glasses back up on the bridge of her nose as she read the first parchment one more time, preparing to send it by owl to Edwina, her journal contact in London. She smiled a greeting as the tall young wizard padded in his sock-covered feet across the sitting room to the large dining table where she had spread out her work.

"Hi Mom," he said hoarsely. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Brian coughed once and leaned against the back of a heavy dining room chair. His voice was somewhat deeper than usual due to recent lack of use and the congestion in his nose and sinuses.

"Not at all," she replied, gathering up several pages neatly. She smiled at the way his dark brown hair was disarrayed from resting on a pillow for so long and gestured for him to join her. "Feeling any better?"

"A little," he said, wrapping his robe more tightly about his bare chest. "I'm not coughing nearly as much as I was yesterday, and the day before, but my throat is still sore. And my nose—very sore." Brian indicated his red and irritated nose; even the softest of linen handkerchiefs could irritate tender skin. He chuckled slightly, stretching his arms wide and sighing loudly at the pleasure of it.

"I am starting to get achy from sleeping so much though; I don't suppose that Nurse Pomfrey would let me swim in the lake today, would she? I feel like I could use the exercise."

Minerva arched one delicately slender eyebrow and gave him a look of mild admonishment. "Doubtful," she said, and then softened her gaze. "I was just about to call Topher for a light lunch. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you. I slept through breakfast this morning," he said as he pulled out a chair and sat at her left. Moments later, Topher popped in.

"How may I serve, Professor Minerva?" The elf nodded silently to the young wizard as well.

"Lunch for two, please Topher. I think soup and sandwiches would do well."

Topher grinned and bowed low. "Breaklin has made her carrot and barley soup today, Professor," he told her, knowing that his mate's special soup was one of McGonagall's favorites. "And Topher's special herb tea for the young Master's cold?"

"It does help, thanks," Brian replied. He coughed again into his forearm but otherwise looked like he truly was feeling quite a bit better. "Could I have more of those soda crackers that you brought yesterday? They were delicious."

The wizened old house-elf inclined his head, smiling. "Breaklin will be pleased to hear it so I shall ask for extra." Minerva chuckled at the way Topher shook his head fondly before he popped away to the kitchens, and recalled that he'd barely hidden his surprise when he saw how tall Brian had grown in just a few days.

Brian sneezed twice, dabbing his tender nose with a handkerchief from a pocket of his blue tartan robe. He sat back against the cushion and grimaced. "I really hate being sick, and summer is the worst."

Minerva made a soft noise of sympathetic agreement as she removed her glasses and rested them on a short stack of books at her elbow. "I have to agree with you on that one, Brian. This is your first illness of the calendar year as well, isn't it?"

"You're right. I missed out on the 'flu that was going around school in February, and right now, I'm not sure if that was lucky or not."

McGonagall nodded. "Aye, well, this will pass. I heard from Poppy that Hagrid came to her to get a stronger potion for Fang's cold."

"I caught this one as a dog? Wow, canine germs," Brian grinned and chuckled, which brought on another slight cough. "Not unheard of, I guess."

A silver cart appeared with a light pop, and Minerva deftly moved the tureen to the table between them. She served Brian a large bowl of the steaming, fragrant soup, and then took a smaller portion for herself. Her son poured tea for the two of them, each cup without sugar or milk.

"Now that I think about it, I once became ill shortly after I had acquired full cat Transformation," she commented as she moved the soup spoons and white cotton napkins to their table. "It was at least two days of a very upset stomach—after something I'd eaten."

Brian looked shocked but his eyes were twinkling with merriment. "Ugh, Mom that's gross. Did you catch a mouse or something?" He tried to inhale the aroma of the soup but his stuffy nose thwarted him.

Minerva chuckled, blowing gingerly on her soup to cool it. "Sparrow." She tried to keep a straight face but relented at the look Brian gave her, and wrinkled her nose, mirroring his own expression. "A big and plump feathery one."

"Really?" He seemed both highly amused and disgusted at the thought.

"Oh, yes," she replied, laughing as she recalled one particular week, shortly after she had achieved full Transformation on her own. "It took some doing to learn how to control the aggressive wee hunter of my feline behavior when I was starting out as an Animagus. Some days, I would pounce on anything that moved. It was very distracting."

Brian shrugged, smiling. "Then I'll have to remember that when I get further along." He paused, thoughtful as he dropped several of the crackers into his bowl… a "dunker", just like his father. "And maybe I can catch a rainbow trout or something nicer tasting for your dinner and Dad's."

As they ate and chatted companionably, Minerva was pleased that Brian seemed to have a fairly good appetite even with the congestion that was probably affecting his taste buds. Two large owls flew in the open window, one a Great Gray and the other a pale Barn owl. Both had neatly rolled parchments attached to their legs. The Great Gray owl landed lightly at Brian's side of the table, folding her wings with barely a sound.

"For me?" he asked, sounding a little surprised as he set aside his spoon. He took one of the herbed soda crackers from the basket and offered it to the handsome bird. "Thank you. It's from my folks, getting ready to fly over to Glasgow on the fourth of August. Oh, that's not very far off!" He was sincerely happy to hear their news. "Bangor to Glasgow was a pretty easy flight, if I remember correctly. It wasn't too difficult to sleep on the plane."

Minerva closed the tin of owl treats and held up the smaller parchment she'd received. "And this is from Albus, hoping you're feeling better." She read further down the page. "He is also enquiring whether you'll feel up to dinner with your godfather the night after tomorrow. Alastor must be in London this week."

"That would be great. I haven't seen him since, what—Christmas or so?"

"We'll invite Poppy as well and make a nice dinner of it for the five of us. I'm sure that Alastor will enjoy hearing about your Scottish tour plans as well." Minerva smiled at Brian's enthusiasm over caravanning around her homeland (and his) with his adoptive family.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"So where is the bonny godson then?" Alastor asked as he sipped his firewhisky and got comfortable in the recliner by the fireplace. His shirt, trousers and light over-robe were freshly pressed and Minerva had complimented his wardrobe. Usually Moody looked like he'd just gotten his clothes out of a rumpled pile in his trunk.

"He's in his room getting dressed," Minerva replied, twitching her wand to light the candles on the dinner table. "Filius and Pomona went on their holidays to the south of France, so Brian is looking after the greenhouses while she is away. Actually, he and Hagrid both."

"Still tops in Herbology? Good for him."

"And Astronomy. He's not far from achieving an Animagus transformation on his own; we've been working at it this summer," Albus added, stretching his long legs out on the low ottoman. "You'll be pleased to hear that Filius has been coaching him at wizard's dueling as well."

Alastor chuckled gruffly. "I do like the sound of that, and Flitwick is a fine duelist from what I remember. What news of the Defense position this year?"

Dumbledore sighed, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Not many qualified applicants, I'm afraid, but I will interview next Tuesday. We'll be fine on the day."

"I could come and fill in for a few weeks…" the ex-Auror offered as he had many times before.

Albus raised his glass in a toast to his friend. "Thank you; I'll keep the red carpet ready to roll out."

Both wizards rose at the sound of Poppy exclaiming happily when Brian made his way down the short hallway, rather dramatically coming into the firelight. "Very nice! I was hoping they would fit you, young man," she said.

Brian's cheeks flushed, but he seemed pleased. "Thank you," he said with a big smile. "I really like the colors too." His long-sleeved shirt was a vibrant blue, and the over-robe was navy, so dark it was almost black. The tailoring of the black trousers was fine, emphasizing his newly acquired height, broad shoulders and slender build. Minerva had enlisted Poppy's help with the clothes shopping, and both witches were extremely pleased with the outcome. Even the recent short haircut contributed to the more mature look.

Moody took a sip from his glass and nearly choked as the younger wizard drew near. Dumbledore patted him firmly on the back. "You weren't kidding, Albus. What in blazes happened to you, lad… didye' grow a foot or two in a week's time?"

Rollins grinned, shaking his godfather's hand, and accepting a chilled bottle of butterbeer from him with the other. "Just about, Uncle." He reached to the sideboard and deftly poured his pint into a clean glass, just as Minerva was joining them. She nodded her approval at his manners, took the empty bottle and banished it to the kitchen in one smooth motion. Brian had had her laughing out loud with a story about Frank Rollins referring to himself as a "beer-barian", preferring to drink lagers, stouts and the like, straight from the bottles when Juliette was not around to scold him about it.

"Come and sit," she invited graciously, motioning Poppy ahead of her. "Topher will have the soup and fish course up in a few minutes." McGonagall smiled warmly when Brian leaned down to kiss her cheek and thank her again for the new clothes. She shook her head slightly with the wonder at how tall and handsome he was—so very like his father, and in such a short amount of time.

Alastor and Albus had reseated themselves, while Brian joined the two witches on the longer sofa near the fireplace.

"Why don't you tell us more of your upcoming summer holiday plans, young man?" Dumbledore suggested, his eyes twinkling behind the gold frames of his spectacles. "I'm sure they'll spark some interest here."

Brian swallowed another sip of his beer, wiping the small foam mark from his upper lip. "Sure. I'll be heading over to Edinburgh in a week or so, and from there it will be touring around all of Scotland in the month of August before school."

"Festival?" Alastor asked, referring to the Edinburgh International Festival.

"Festival Fringe and the Tattoo… which I've never seen. Frank used to tell stories from his days at the University of Edinburgh about the Military Tattoo and how spectacular it was to see the massed pipes and drums on the castle esplanade."

"I can't say as I've never seen such a festival," Albus commented. He looked over at Minerva, smiling before he continued. "And I can't imagine so many bagpipes all at once!"

"It's an acquired taste, dearest," Minerva said drily, reaching to squeeze his hand. The mention of bagpipes was a very old teasing topic between them. Even Alastor and Poppy shared a glance and a chuckle over this.

"I like the pipes," Brian added. "This is supposed to be one of the best piping festivals in the world, and I've only seen two smaller ones back in Maine. It'll be my first truly Scottish fest."

"Aye and it's about time too, lad," Moody growled, finishing his whisky and sending the empty glass over to the sideboard. "You'll have to get your Dad to take you to the Whisky Heritage Centre afterwards… right down the road from the castle, first or second door on the right. Tell 'em your godfather is running low on his supplies!"

Brian grinned and nodded. "I'd love to but they may card me if I look too far underage."

Alastor shrugged, grinning back at the boy. "No worries, lad. Where are you staying? Down in the Old Towne someplace?"

"I think mostly camping. There's a place called Mortonhall, about an hour out from the city," said Brian. "Or, over in Leith if it's not too full. Mom, er Juliette, likes camping near the beach so she can paint."

"Camping? As in _tents_?" asked Poppy, sounding mildly concerned.

"Camper," he replied with a questioning glance at Minerva who nodded her understanding. "No, _caravan_ is what you call it over here. Frank is renting a big caravan but Archie and I are used to pitching a tent right next door. That's what we always did back in the States, mostly so we could get up very early to go fishing for breakfast."

Poppy grimaced slightly, and then smiled to let Brian know she was teasing him about the camping and fishing both. "Where else are you planning to visit?" Albus was laughing softly and gave Minerva an amused look: she, too, would eat fish for every meal if she could.

"I really want to search for the Loch Ness monster from some of the tiny towns on the lake up there," said Rollins, catching a look of surprise from Moody and a nudge on his arm from Pomfrey. "I don't think Nessie's a giant selkie like in some of the books… probably a plesiosaur or something like that."

Alastor grunted in agreement, hauling himself up from the armchair to follow Minerva and Poppy to the dining room table. "_You_ might be a selkie, lad, for all we know. Oh, and is that lovely Scottish salmon I smell, McGonagall darlin'?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Brian took the stairs down from the Headmaster's suite three at a time, practically running along the stone corridor to meet with Hagrid at the greenhouses; he was smiling to himself as the new song from Moody was rolling around in his head (actually several new songs, most of them rather naughty pub limericks). It was nearly ten at night, and he'd promised Professor Sprout that he would check on her nocturnal plants each evening while she and Filius were on their summer holidays. Professor Flitwick had finally convinced his wife that Aix en Provence was ideal for them, and that they could rent bicycles for picnicking day-trips through the countryside (or they could stay in and order room service; either plan made the tiny wizard very happy).

The young Gryffindor had gotten so involved with sharing his travel plans that he'd lost track of the time, and when McGonagall reminded him of the late hour, he'd made his apologies and bolted for the spiral staircase… even the gargoyle had chuckled when he slid gracefully around the first corner to the castle's front doors. At his mother's request, he had left his new robes in his room, opting instead to wear a gray hooded sweatshirt against the chilly breeze coming in from the Black Lake.

Brian's broad grin vanished instantly when he heard Professor Snape's loud call just as he reached the main entrance. His chest was pounding from the run, and he was startled to hear anyone other than the head Groundskeeper just then.

"MISTER ROLLINS!" he thundered as he strode up from the Slytherin dungeon. "Where are you going in such a hurry, hmm?"

Rollins quickly regained his composure as he turned to politely wait for the Potions Master to reach him. "Good evening, Professor. I am looking in on Professor Sprout's plants while she is on her trip to France with Professor Flitwick." He held the thick oaken door open with his hand before he stepped aside, the cool night air sweeping over both wizards.

"I was not aware that the Headmaster had allowed students to remain at school during the summer since so few of the faculty members are in residence," Severus commented in his soft, silky voice. His dark eyes glittered dangerously, almost as if he hoped to catch Brian in a lie. "Even for our first American pupil here."

Brian did not rise to the subtle bait, and he relaxed his mind in the hopes that Snape would brush against its edges. "Special circumstances, sir. My parents are coming to the UK in about nine days; we will tour all around Scotland before I meet my classmates at Kings Cross station."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. Madam Sprout hired me on as an assistant for the summer months and I've been learning quite a lot about…"

"Hopefully enough to improve your disastrous marks in my Potions course," Severus interrupted drily. He was exaggerating a bit, but of course, Brian's grades in Potions had room for improvement.

"My oldest brother Joseph is sending me his chemistry textbook before he heads off to University," Brian said, smiling slightly. He turned when he heard Hagrid call him from the outside steps.

Snape raised one sardonic eyebrow, keeping the rest of his face carefully still. "Fascinating, Mr. Rollins. Very well, you may attend to your greenhouse duties." He too, turned to acknowledge Hagrid very briefly before he swept away toward the Headmaster's office.

Brian grinned. "Thank you, Professor Snape. Pleasant evening, sir."

Out of their sight as he made his way to the gargoyle staircase, Snape shook his head and grumbled to himself: "Too bloody cheerful… _just like Dumbledore_."

TBC

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, gang. And, happy autumn to all. It's been a while since I was last able to post but we are about to get young Brian into his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (keeping with HP-CoS).


	30. Chapter 30

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).

A/N: It is September 1st, and it's time to ride the Hogwarts Express back to the castle for the start of the new school year. Brian has joined his second year classmates at King's Cross Station in London, meeting up with the Weasley family, Neville and Hermione. Unfortunately, Harry and Ron have missed the train, unable to get through the barrier at Platform Nine and three-quarters, as all Hogwarts students must. What might have been going on off-screen during the early part of the "Chamber of Secrets" film?

_**Chapter 30/?**_

_**Strangers on a train**_

"You and Ginny can wait here," said Arthur Weasley in a fairly calm tone of voice after they'd made a few quick introductions in the passenger car. "I'll speak to the conductor and see if we can't get an owl or Patronus message on ahead to Headmaster Dumbledore at the school. I'm sure they're alright, Molly."

Mr. Weasley nodded and patted Brian's shoulder as he eased around him and stepped out of the compartment; the boy held the door while Arthur poked his head back in to give his wife a reassuring wink. "Cheers, lad. Be right back."

Hermione smiled at Mrs. Weasley, and included a nervous-looking Ginny in the conversation. "I was going to ask how your summer holiday was, Brian, but it looks like you spent the entire time exploring outside!"

Brian grinned, murmuring a greeting to Neville Longbottom who had just joined them in the compartment after a quick trip to the baggage car. The slim and pale-faced Gryffindor lugged his bookbag to the top rack and sat with a huge sigh. A folded-up newspaper was in his lap and a pencil was precariously tucked behind one ear.

"I would say so H, yes. After school got out in June, I worked for Professor Sprout out in the gardens and greenhouses, pretty much every day." This earned him a somewhat jealous look from Neville whose grandmother rarely went outdoors in the summer heat. "Then my parents, my sister and brothers came over to travel all around Scotland in August. We went to the Festival in Edinburgh, and tons of other places, kind of a huge circle around the whole country… even camping at Loch Ness and at John O'Groats, way up on the North Sea."

"That sounds like a lot of fun, dear," said Molly Weasley, sounding a bit distracted. She put on a brave face but it was clear that she was worried about Ron and Harry who hadn't made it through the platform at King's Cross station.

"Oh, it was brilliant, Mrs. Weasley," Brian said, glancing over at a sudden giggle from Ginny. He smiled warmly at her. "Yeah, that. I picked up a few expressions too."

"Sorry, it's just …" she stammered, blushing when she realized he knew without asking what she had laughed about.

He grinned broadly, raising both eyebrows and chuckling in his usual self-deprecating manner. "It sounds awfully funny coming out of my mouth, doesn't it?" Ginny was put at her ease when both Hermione and Neville laughed too. "Don't worry. All of these guys are constantly ribbing me about my accent. Even some of the teachers had to get used to it!" Brian couldn't help thinking of Minerva and Albus just then, and how different they sounded from him. He had sent postcards almost daily from his trip, but like any child, he missed them very much and wanted to share his stories with them.

"Hogwarts has never had an American student, dear," Molly commented kindly, smiling at Rollins and silently thanking him for his friendly attention to her youngest child. "Neither has Gryffindor if you think about it."

"What is the Sorting Hat like, Mum? Will you tell me again? Do you think I'll be in Gryffindor? I'm not sure I'd be good for any of the other Houses." The girl stumbled over her words in her nervousness. Ginny knew full well the family history: her parents and all of her older brothers had been in Gryffindor, with Professor Minerva McGonagall as their Head of House.

As the Hogwart's Express steamed northward into Scotland, the conversations turned quiet as Molly Weasley reassured her daughter about her upcoming arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I need a baseball player's name, guys… eight letters." Neville looked up from his crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Hermione shrugged and shook her head, having no idea about baseball anyway, barely glancing away from her Gilderoy Lockhart text … _Magical M_e. Although the girl had already read each and every one of her second-year schoolbooks, front to back, after meeting the author (and newly hired Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher) at Flourish and Blott's, she'd decided to go through them all again. It couldn't hurt to be well prepared was her way of thinking; any professor could surprise them with a pop-quiz in their first week back.

Brian yawned. "What does it start with?"

"Oh, yeah, let me see. Forty-six across is 'W'," said Neville expectantly.

Rollins leaned back, thinking for several moments. "Try 'Williams'. What are you doing anyway, Nev?"

"New York Times crossword puzzle. My Gran thought it would be a good idea to help me work on my memory." He looked a little sheepish at the admission.

Brian chuckled, and swatted his friend's shoulder. "Cool. But why did you pick an American newspaper? Surely they print them over here, right?"

Neville looked aside, his ears turning pink. "I forgot which paper she told me was a good one to start with."

Brian, Hermione and Neville laughed but this got Brian yawning again. He checked his watch, stretching his arms all the way up to the ceiling of the carriage. "I need to stretch my legs for a bit but I'll be back in a few minutes. I may be asleep in about twenty seconds if I don't."

By the time Brian returned, his pockets and hands full from the café car, Arthur Weasley had gotten back and once again reassured Molly that Dumbledore was fully aware of Ron and Harry's predicament. In fact, Dumbledore had already sent his phoenix, Fawkes, to follow them and observe from a safe distance. Mr. Weasley watched curiously as Brian lined up several tiny muffins and scones along the windowsill of their compartment.

"Oh, hang on a sec," Mr. Weasley cautioned when Brian drew his wand from the back pocket of his blue jeans, "you're underage for a few years yet. No sense getting detention from Minerva, er Professor McGonagall, before you even arrive at school." Arthur drew his own wand and cast an Enlarging Charm on the food: there were chicken and ham sandwiches from Rollins' jacket pocket, scones and large pumpkin muffins.

Brian shrugged and smiled his thanks, not bothering to correct the older man that he was actually over forty. "Cool, thanks. I wasn't sure who liked coffee or tea, so I got some of both. Ginny? Mrs. Weasley? Hermione?" He politely offered the ladies their first choices from the beverages as he moved his own tall water bottle off to one side.

"I didn't know Mrs. Firth had coffee for the trolley," commented Mrs. Weasley as she savored her first sip. "Thank you, Brian. Let us chip in a bit, dear?" She reached for her purse but Brian held up a hand, shaking his head.

"My treat, ma'am, and it's my pleasure. Professor Sprout was very generous with her stipend before I went on the trip with my folks." He grinned again, looking at Hermione and Neville. "You guys are going to totally love second year Herbology. Madam Sprout and I must've transplanted over a thousand seedlings of all sorts in greenhouse three!" He refrained from mentioning his duelist training with Professor Flitwick; the tiny wizard had asked him to wait, if he could, from sharing that announcement. Brian also reckoned that his Animagus training was better kept quiet since second-year students were generally not adept at that sort of magic.

The afternoon passed pleasantly after their lunch on the train. A few of them napped while Brian and Mr. Weasley played wizard's chess, speaking in soft voices. Arthur was ecstatic to learn that he could ask Brian not only about his American upbringing, but about his Muggle upbringing as well. It was nearly dusk when Rollins and Longbottom headed off to the men's room to change into their school robes; Mrs. Weasley cast a discreet Charm to darken the windows of their carriage as Arthur stepped out into the hallway so the girls could change too.

Neville and Brian were on their way back to the compartment when they saw the distinctive platinum blonde-hair of Draco Malfoy, closely followed by his two incredibly dim but obsessively loyal cronies, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. The Slytherin trio were headed from the opposite end of the train, and Brian observed them bullying and insulting other students as they went. They took special pleasure in tormenting the incoming first year students although they themselves were only a few months _out_ of their first year at the school.

Draco was laughing at something one of their hapless victims had said, looking behind him to make sure that Crabbe and Goyle were in tacit agreement, when he nearly ran into Brian Rollins. At first, Malfoy's reaction was to shove back on whatever or whomever he'd run up against, but when he realized that Brian had grown quite a bit over the summer holidays, his eyes flickered with something akin to intimidation.

"Hello darlings," Brian drawled, looking down at the top of Draco's head, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a slight smile. "Had a good summer, did we?" Brian assumed an air of cool casualness as he finished straightening his Gryffindor tie and adjusted his shirtsleeves under his school robes.

"Yeah, whatever, Rollins," Draco snarled. He smirked at the pale, wide-eyed face of Neville Longbottom who stood just behind Brian's shoulder. "Are you a bodyguard these days or what?"

Brian chuckled at that. "I honestly wouldn't know, Malfoy." He gave Crabbe and Goyle an ironic wink, and they both had the sense to lower their glares. Even though Goyle had about twenty pounds or so weight advantage on Brian, they were the same height.

Draco caught Rollins' glance toward his two hulking companions. "Idiots," he muttered.

Malfoy was about to comment about something else when Mr. Weasley stepped into the passageway, looking for Brian and Neville. He immediately spotted the three unsavory characters and remembered his near-brawl with Lucius Malfoy at the bookshop in Diagon Alley.

"All right gentlemen?" he asked, keeping his voice down, out of earshot of Molly; she had not been best pleased when they'd left Flourish and Blott's that day. "We should be arriving at the station in about a half hour."

"Just a little chat with the guys, Mr. Weasley," Brian said with a shrug. "See you up at school… darlings." At that, Draco and his associates made their excuses and hurried back along the corridor from whence they'd come.

Arthur looked from Brian to Neville and back again, which made Brian laugh out loud. "It just winds them up, sir. They think Nev and I are together since we both work for Professor Sprout during the term. Maybe Herbology isn't manly enough for them, I dunno."

Neville coughed into one hand, blushing and shaking his head, trying not to laugh. "Serves 'em right."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind…" Arthur was quick to comment as they stepped back into the compartment and rejoined Molly, Ginny and Hermione.

"A boat? Seriously?" Ginny asked in disbelief. Hermione smiled at the returned wizards as they sat. Arthur leaned in to kiss Molly on the cheek.

"Seriously, Ginny and you'll like it a lot. Brian, you missed this last year when the train arrives, but Hagrid will meet all of the first year students right at the station, and then you'll get in these little boats to ride across the Black Lake up to the castle." Hermione closed her eyes briefly at the memory of her very first sight of Hogwarts castle. "It's a really beautiful view, coming in from the darkness on the water. He'll escort you up the lakeside staircase and leave you with Professor McGonagall to head over to the Great Hall for the Sorting ceremony."

"Oh, and don't forget the giant squid," Neville added, happy to contribute. "He lives somewhere down in the lake, but I didn't see him from my boat last year… I was more worried about losing Trevor again." Ginny's eyes went wide and she gulped audibly.

Brian was quick to reach over and touch her arm in gentle reassurance. "That part I do know about, Ginny. He's very, very nice and his name is Elliot if you do see him and want to say hello. Up at the school, I'd swim in the lake pretty much every day if I could."

Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at Brian curiously at this revelation. As one, they turned to Hermione and Neville and saw that they were smiling in support. The Weasleys knew that their sons, Fred and George in particular, liked to play jokes and this sounded right up their alley.

"I've personally seen Brian swimming with and talking with Elliot, many times during the term," Hermione said. She giggled. "Even the twins have tried to have a chat but he just splashes water on them!"

Rollins sat back with a nod. "I give you my word. The giant squid's name is Elliot and his mate's name is Miriam; she arrived with the Headmaster just after the end of term in June, while I was still on campus. I think she is protecting an egg sac right now."

Molly Weasley seemed delighted at the thought of the old giant squid getting married and having kids… lots and lots of them. Just then, they all looked out the window of the compartment as they felt the train slowing.

"That'll be us arriving at Hogsmeade Station," Mr. Weasley commented cheerily. He stood and took an armload of jackets from the luggage rack above their heads.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Ginny blushed furiously as her mother hugged and kissed her goodbye; none of the other students' parents were there to actually accompany them to the school. She tried hard to ignore the stares and giggles of the passersby. Brian, however, defended her when a few older students made comments as they passed.

"Come on. Haven't you ever seen someone's Mom and Dad bringing them to school?" Rollins mock-glowered as one girl mumbled an apology. As soon as she'd gone though, he flashed a big grin to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione was shaking her head as she watched the girl rejoin her friends, and suddenly recalled that Brian had told them about his mother walking with him and his siblings to the first day of school, _every_ school year back home.

"You're going to have far too much fun this year, aren't you?" she asked.

"You bet," Brian replied, still grinning. "I really hate bullies."

"Firs' years, over here please," Hagrid called, striding along the platform, the crowd parting for him (and a few new students gawking at his sheer astonishing size). "Firs' years wit' me. Over here, please."

He stopped short when he saw the Weasley family members gathered with a Gryffindor trio of second years. "Oh, hullo Molly! Arthur, all right?" The hulking groundskeeper leaned in carefully to give Molly a whiskery kiss on the back of her hand.

"Doing well, thanks Hagrid," Arthur replied as he shook hands with his old friend. "Just seeing our last one off to Hogwarts, the long way!"

"Excellent, the Headmaster will be pleased," said Hagrid, giving an exaggerated wink. "Pleased about _all_ of the Weasleys, to be sure." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. _Good, Dumbledore's let some of the staff know._

Molly had also given fierce hugs to Hermione, Neville, and Brian, and was wiping an accidental smudge of lipstick from Rollins' cheek with her thumb. "Sorry about that, dear. Right. Have a good term, everyone. Don't forget to write if you need anything!" She'd practically adopted them on the train ride to school.

Brian glanced at Hermione and Ginny, noticing that Molly was close to tears. He smiled down at her. "No worries, Mrs. Weasley, I promise to help look after…"

She chuckled, mildly embarrassed at her own reaction. "I know, dears. I'm just being silly. Go on then, boats and carriages are waiting for you."

The youngsters headed off in two different directions, with Brian looking back longingly at the fleet of tiny boats to which Hagrid was leading the new first year students. He joined Hermione and Neville in a large carriage that seemed to be drawn up the narrow dirt track through the woods by… nothing at all.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Brian couldn't help but smile guiltily at the way McGonagall was fussing over him in her private office; he'd received a summons by owl as soon as his carriage had reached the castle steps. He stood quietly when she reached and adjusted a tiny fold in his school tie.

"Just let me look at you, son," she said, holding her arms outstretched when she finally pulled back and looked up at his face. Minerva's eyes had the same glisten that Mrs. Weasley had had when she was sending them off to the castle not a half-hour earlier. "Still too thin, lad; it's worrisome. Didn't you eat on your long trip around Scotland?"

He barely caught himself from rolling his eyes since he knew she was just teasing. "Mom, of course I did. Fish and potatoes every day!"

She chucked his elbow and shook her head. "Cheeky. All right then, speaking of 'fish every day'… are you sure you want to try your transformation? I worry that you haven't had enough practice. You do remember what Nurse Pomfrey said about not exhausting your magic."

He did roll his eyes then. "Honest, I practiced with Uncle Alastor, just like I said in my letter, and he would never let me get over tired. It's really neat, both kinds!"

_Two Animagus transformations?_ Minerva thought with a twinge of worry. "Go ahead and please be careful, Brian." She sat in the winged-back chair and waited as he stepped more toward the center of the room.

"Dad likes this one, of course," Brian said and then in the next moment, he had transformed into a black and white Border collie. The dog barked once, before padding over to McGonagall and offering his right front paw.

"Very well done, and also well-mannered for a wee dog," she commented, impressed with the ease with which he transformed. Brian-as-dog hopped into the other chair and sat down on his haunches before he returned to his human form with a quiet pop.

He rolled his neck and shoulders, giving a soft groan of pleasure. "Haven't worked out how to go from one to another though, like dog to cat or the other way around. What do you think, Mom?"

"I've honestly never even heard of anyone having more than one Animagus form," she said, giving his question serious consideration. "Perhaps we can ask Albus during one of your tutorials later in the term." _It still worries me_, she thought but did not say aloud.

"And safer too probably," Brian added, noting the look on her face. He grinned as he straightened in the seat. "This is the one you like."

Minerva did indeed like the young wizard's cat form: a black and white slender cat, with sparkling blue eyes. He looked like he was dressed in full Muggle formal wear.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, little Tux," she said, smiling fondly as he leaped into her lap, purring loudly the entire time.

A/N: More to come in this our year 2 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and thank you for your very, very kind patience with my slow updates! We all know how busy real life gets, don't we?

I, for one, can't wait for Brian to meet Gilderoy Lockhart.


	31. Chapter 31

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).

A/N: Harry and Ron make an ill-advised "grand entrance" to Hogwarts after flying a Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow that grew on the castle grounds. On the first day of the term, after Ron receives a Howler from his Mum, our Gryffindor heroes will have double Herbology, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts with the new Hogwarts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.

_**Chapter 31/?**_

_**Not exactly like Chitty-chitty Bang-bang… but very close.**_

"You were seen by no less than _seventeen_ Muggles between here and London, and judging from your completely vacuous expressions, you have no idea how serious this is! Have you?" Snape thundered at them as he stood and pounded his open hand on his desk for emphasis.

Harry tried to explain. "But, sir…" He was feeling very disconcerted just then, and not simply because of the creepy, crawly specimens in glass vials which lined nearly every horizontal surface in the Potions Master's dank and dark dungeon office.

"Not a bloody clue, have either of you dunderheads… stupidly risking the exposure of our world as well as carelessly damaging a Whomping Willow that has been on these castle grounds since before you were born!" His eyes glittered darkly, like obsidian, and were just as cutting. Both boys knew that Severus Snape was just warming up in these early seconds of his tirade; he'd found them peeking into the Great Hall, apparently hoping to join their classmates undetected after their ill-advised adventure in the flying Ford Anglia.

Ron blanched, remembering the sound of the vicious tree's heavy limbs striking his father's car, and nearly bludgeoning both of them to an unpleasant death. He had a stinging cut above one eyebrow (from when the harried little Anglia tossed them onto the front lawn) that he was gamely trying to ignore. "Honestly, Professor, I think it did more damage to us…"

Severus lashed across him, a sharp gesture emphasizing his point. "Weasley, silence! And you, Potter—I can assure you that were you in Slytherin, and your punishment rested with me—the pair of you would be on the train home tonight, never to return. As it is…" He almost laughed as his lips curled in a sneer.

"As it is, Professor Snape, they are not," came a stern voice from the office doorway, bringing them all to a lurching halt. Harry felt a brand new queasy knot forming in his stomach at the look of disapproval from the Headmaster. Ron blanched even further when he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall making their way into the Potions Master's office. Both boys were somewhat surprised to see a black and white cat following the distinguished pair and then leaping to the desk, waiting politely after a nod of acknowledgement from McGonagall. Weasley had to drag his attention away from watching the animal as it groomed its right front paw briefly, and seemed to give him a friendly wink. The cat's large blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and frank curiosity.

"Headmaster," Snape continued, pointing an accusing finger directly at Potter. "These boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wiz…"

Albus held up a hand, stopping the Potions Master mid-rant. "I am well aware of our laws, Severus, I assure you—having written quite a number of them myself." He paused, looking at Harry and Ron over the rims of his half-moon spectacles; for his part, Harry would rather Dumbledore had shouted. The disappointment from the Headmaster and his Deputy, both of whom he respected and admired, was heavy and painful to bear.

"As head of Gryffindor," he said, turning slightly and nodding toward Minerva. "It falls upon Professor McGonagall to determine the appropriate punishment for these habitually recalcitrant students."

Ron gulped audibly, not really catching the subtle undertone of humor in the Headmaster's voice. "We'll go and get our trunks and things, then." He hunched his shoulders as his neck reddened and he started to rise from the straight-backed chair.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Weasley?" enquired McGonagall, mentally shaking her head at her husband and taking her hand from where it rested lightly on the cat's back. For a moment, Ron couldn't help staring at the enormous blue eyes that stared mutely at the two second-year Gryffindors. The cat had begun purring rather loudly when Minerva turned her attention to it, but quieted at her whispered admonishment, curling its tail neatly around its forepaws in a traditional feline pose.

Weasley's ears went pink at the thought of Professor McGonagall now keeping a small pet at the castle, just like anyone else; he'd not even considered that possibility before since it made the stern witch seem more normal (actually, more like his own mother with all of the chickens, pets, and house full of kids). He cleared his throat and consciously stopped himself from squirming in the chair. "You're going to expel us, aren't you, Professor?" Seated beside him, Harry scarcely dared to breathe; his insides were still churning with his anxiety and shame.

McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her glasses, and her lips remained drawn in a thin line, but she shook her head. "Not today, but I must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done… I will be writing to your families tonight and you will both receive detention; I will notify you later as to the time and place."

"I'll leave you to it, Minerva, and your capable hands then; I do need to make a few additional announcements at the feast and sample the lovely puddings which we were promised by the kitchen staff," said Albus, moving to the door and subtly gesturing for Severus to join him. The Potions Master glared once more at Potter and Weasley before following the Headmaster back to the Great Hall.

Minerva drew her wand (causing both boys to flinch involuntarily) and a tray heavily laden with sandwiches appeared on Snape's desk; a second swish of her wand, and a chilled pitcher of juice appeared with two glasses.

"Eat here, and when you have finished, go _immediately_ to your dormitory," she told them warningly. "I will have my House elf come to clean up here afterwards. Do not go to the Great Hall—am I clear?"

Ron's mouth was full so it was Harry who replied. "Absolutely, yes, ma'am." He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw the platter of appetizing food.

Weasley hurriedly swallowed his last bite of rotisserie chicken sandwich. "Erm, Professor, my sister was to be Sorted tonight and I was really hoping to see…" He used his fingers to wipe a dab of mayonnaise from his bottom lip.

McGonagall's uncompromising look softened just a bit; including Molly and Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins, she'd been Head of House for all _nine_ of the Weasleys. "Ginevra was Sorted into Gryffindor. Do _not_ go to the Great Hall tonight… it will be far worse for you if you do, if you catch my meaning, gentlemen?"

"Yes, Professor! Right to the dorm, shower, brush teeth and straight to bed," Ron responded at once, his face set earnestly. He was certain that his eyes were fooling him when he saw Professor McGonagall suppressing a grin.

"Good. I appreciate your waiting, Tux," said Minerva, and it took the boys several seconds to realize that she was speaking directly to the cat; the handsome black and white animal stood immediately at the sound of his name, _chirruping_ once and giving her his undivided attention. "Would you please find Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris to have them transport Weasley and Potter's things to Gryffindor Tower? Just inside the portrait entry to the Common Room will be fine. You may then return to my office if you like."

Ron's eyes widened when he saw the cat stretch up to touch her cheek with his nose, causing her to smile and chuckle softly. "Thank you once again for your assistance this evening," she murmured to the cat she'd addressed as "Tux".

"Meeeee-ow," replied the cat, looking rather pleased with himself, and then he leapt from the desk and was gone.

Minerva blushed slightly when she turned and saw the young wizards staring in slack-jawed disbelief. Harry hurriedly brought his attention back to his brown sugar glazed ham sandwich.

"I will schedule a brief House meeting for tomorrow after breakfast to distribute your class schedules; don't be late." With that, she too left them.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Man, what happened to _you_? Did you head into one of those ridiculous Muggle nutritionist and fitness centers or something?" exclaimed Dean as Brian came around to his curtained four-poster bed from the suite's shared bathroom. A towel was draped over his broad shoulders and he had already changed into his customary blue plaid pajama bottoms.

Rollins grinned, interpreting his classmates' indignation as being one: Brian's newly-acquired height; and, two: his deep golden-brown tan. "I had a really good summer, and kayaked all over Scotland with my brothers." He laughed at the look on Seamus' face as the pale Irish boy flexed his pale and puny biceps in the mirror, and nudged him gently aside to comb his hair still damp from the shower.

"Bloody Yanks," muttered Seamus, a tiny smile of envy sneaking onto his lips. "You're almost the size of Fred and George… too bad you're not a Quidditch player like they are." Finnegan barely came up to his best friend Dean's shoulder, and the American was taller even than that. Brian couldn't help but chuckle since he knew that his friends were all well aware of how much he hated flying on broomsticks. In fact, he, Hermione and Neville were the worst broomstick flyers by far in the entire second year of students, of any House.

"Go on, Harry," Neville prompted quietly; he, Seamus and Dean had been hanging on every word of the adventurous tale. "You guys ended up taking Ron's dad's car?"

Harry snuck a glance over at Weasley who shrugged as if to say _yeah, go ahead_. They'd arrived to the Common Room amid a loud burst of cheering and hearty back-slapping congratulations, and Ron still glowed with guilty pride from the jealous looks on the twins' faces.

"Um, yeah," said Harry. "We couldn't get through to the platform so we figured we had to get to Hogwarts some other way." He was embarrassed to mention what Professor McGonagall had said about sending an owl instead. Neither he nor Ron had thought of sending a message with Hedwig: they were too focused on the prospect of an adventure in the flying, and occasionally invisible, vehicle.

"Fred and George had driven the Ford _loads_ of times before us," Ron interjected. "I even went with them to pick up Harry at the end of July, bringin' him back to the Burrow to stay the summer. No big deal, right?" He shrugged again, now feeling more or less calm and cool after they'd left Professor Snape's dungeon office; there had been far too many strange and disgusting things in jars of preservative for his liking.

"Dude, come on," said Brian, grinning broadly at Dean and Seamus who were laughing in disbelief. "You were lucky to just get detention! My parents would have _killed_ me for taking the car. Oh, and let's not forget that it was a _flying_ car that you stole, not exactly common in the Muggle world." The boys all laughed at this.

Ron reddened, catching his breath and punching Seamus on the arm since he was nearest. "Whatever. McGonagall's also writing to our folks tonight. I'll be watching the Owl Post closely over the next few days, that's for sure." He sighed in resignation, already expecting the worst. "Detention will most likely be the easy part in of all this…"

"We don't have our class schedules yet," Brian commented to the group in general as he hopped up on his bed; Zöe had not yet come upstairs from her afternoon adventures outside the castle. "Should I be worried?"

"Nah," said Dean, turning down the covers on his own bed. "They'll be handed out at breakfast tomorrow, pretty much like last year." Dean, who was rather good at drawing, carefully put aside his sketchbook and pencil on the nightstand.

"I was in Madam Pomfrey's ward last year, remember? With a broken arm, busted head and everything. This year was actually my first official Sorting Feast."

Ron shared a glance with Harry, and sighed heavily. "I almost wish I was in Madam Pomfrey's ward right now." He was now coming up with all sorts of ideas about how his mother would react when she received the Deputy Headmistress' letter, and not one of them was pleasant. His dad on the other hand, might blow his top on rare occasion, but for the most part Arthur Weasley was just as adventurous as his offspring. Molly had her hands full.

Harry, still feeling guilty about the trouble they'd caused, tried to cheer up his best friend. "Well, look at it this way… Professor MacGonagall already said we weren't to be expelled."

Ron grimaced. "Yet."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Minerva made her way down the row alongside the Gryffindor table, passing out class schedules as she went, and dust motes were still falling from the ceiling after Ron had received Molly Weasley's Howler in the morning Owl Post. She noticed Brian's wide-eyed expression, and made a mental note to tell him about some of the more interesting versions of letters which could be sent and received by owl. It was obvious that the second-year students were both awed and amused by the volume of Ron's mother's admonitions (and, of course, her congratulations to Ginny). McGonagall hoped, probably in vain, that the usual early days of tricks and pranks from students of all four Houses would be fairly light because of it. Many of the young witches and wizards were in high spirits after their long summer away from the castle.

"Oh, yes!" Brian exclaimed when he received his class schedule, giving Minerva a very big smile. "Double Herbology is first this time guys…" The others were less enthusiastic but seemed pleased all the same. Ron and Harry groaned softly when they saw that first period was going to be shared with Slytherin. Any class that was shared with Draco Malfoy and his huge cronies was not always going to be enjoyed.

"Indeed," she said, looking at him over the rim of her spectacles and keeping her voice even as she tried not to laugh. "And Transfiguration is second. Let's have a productive start of term, shall we ladies and gentlemen? Remember that Gryffindor currently holds the House Cup for the first time in seven years, and I'd like to keep it that way for a wee while."

They all nodded in reply, a few of them softly voicing their agreement. Harry perked up a bit since this brought to mind the first Quidditch matches of the season, to begin in November. He'd already gotten a note from Oliver Wood, a burly Scottish sixth year and Gryffindor's team captain, that morning workouts would begin that coming weekend, rain or shine.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The grass was still wet with morning dew as the students gathered outside of the greenhouses for their first class of the new school year. The second-year Gryffindors were waiting outside of Greenhouse three, having been assured by Rollins that they would be starting there. The Slytherins stood in a knot by a wooden bench some distance away; Draco Malfoy lounged and sneered as usual, his sycophants practically kneeling before his makeshift throne.

It was Brian who noticed right away that Professor Pomona Sprout was not her usual cheery self as she made her way around from the front lawn of the castle, followed by a wizard who had been introduced to the school at the Sorting Feast. Her arms were laden with bandages and an over-flowing basket of other gardening tools, which she gratefully handed off to him when she got to the greenhouse door to draw out a huge ring of keys from a pocket of her work-a-day smock which she wore over her robes. He scowled slightly when the new faculty member, a poncy fellow in a spotless turquoise robe and perfectly matching hat, gave an excessively hearty laugh intended to reassure the Herbology Mistress.

"Now, now, don't worry that your tree-mending methods are out of date, Professor," he said loudly, showing more bright white teeth than should have been humanly possible as he spoke. "I'm confident that the dear Whomping Willow will be back at full-speed in no time. Oh! Harry, a quick word before class starts? I'm sure Madame Sprout won't mind your little tardy moment on the first day!" Lockhart put a chummy arm around Harry's shoulder and moved off several paces. Harry looked like he'd rather be at any one of a thousand other places at that moment.

Brian's scowl deepened when he saw that Professor Sprout did indeed mind the inconsiderate interference, and that this new guy Lockhart (_supposedly_ the new Defense teacher if Headmaster Dumbledore's announcement the night before was true) was completely clueless. Pomona shook her head slightly, giving Rollins a look of appreciation.

"Brian, if you would please gather the auditory protection for your classmates," she said loudly as the students filed in ahead of her. "Excellent, we have a busy morning, ladies and gentlemen, so we'll get right to it…"

She was in the middle of her introduction to the second-years when Harry slipped discretely in from the greenhouse door and made his way to the workbench that he shared with Hermione and Ron. Hermione was still slightly pink in the cheeks as she had just earned twenty points for Gryffindor in less than twenty seconds of their first class of the term.

"…and as you can see here, we have quite a few of the mandrake seedlings which need to be repotted into larger vessels. We'd rather not let our plants get root-bound if we can help it… when mature, they are a very important Potions ingredient among other things!"

Pomona took the earmuffs from around her neck, and indicated that the students should do the same. "As Miss Granger has explained for us, the cry of the mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears hit; luckily these chaps are still rather young but their call will knock you out for a few hours… I'm sure you'll not want to visit the Nurse just yet. Put your ear protectors on, everyone, while I demonstrate with this one here. Wait for my signal to take them off again before we continue with our lesson. Right, flaps down and secure?" She waited two or three moments, winked at Neville's thumbs-up, and pulled the seedling from its too-small nursery pot.

Brian grinned at the diverse reactions from his classmates nearby: the mandrake seedlings had, instead of roots, small babies that were lumpy, ugly and covered with potting soil. Though none could hear it clearly, the young plant was obviously squalling his little head off. Rollins could tell that several students were gasping with shock or at least recoiling in mild revulsion.

Professor Sprout held up the seedling by his head-stems and leaves, grimacing a little before moving him to the larger pot and covering him with the warm soil. The mandrake settled into his new home quickly, just as she knew he would. Tamping down the soil with gentle fingertips, she signaled to the class that it was safe to remove their earmuffs and listen for a few additional instructions.

"There now, easy-peasy," she assured them, noticing that a few of the students, Longbottom included, were rather pale. "Plenty of pots and potting soil to go around; four to a workbench if you please. You can let Brian, Neville or me know if you run out of supplies. Any questions?"

After clarifying one or two last minute inquiries, she reminded them to replace their ear protectors and let them get to work for the remaining hour and a quarter. Sprout walked around the greenhouse, observing the students as they transplanted the seedlings, nodding and giving encouragement where it was needed.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Bloody hell, I'm knackered already and that was only first period," Ron said as they walked back up to the castle for a quick wash. They had barely enough time to get cleaned up on their way to Transfiguration. "She sure made it look a lot easier than it was!" He was gingerly working his arms and shoulders to ease sore muscles.

Harry gave a rueful chuckle. "Professor Sprout always makes it looks easy, mate." Just like the rest of them, he was sweaty, achy and covered with soil. One of his mandrakes, a short and fat fellow, had been easy to get out of his nursery pot, but Harry had spend nearly a half hour trying to get him back into the new (larger) pot. Brian had come over to lend a hand right there at the end of class. "What do you reckon, Brian?"

Rollins just smiled and shook his head. "I didn't think it was that bad since they're still small, but it sure did make me hungry!" This made the guys all laugh but Hermione muttered something under her breath. She grinned when Brian raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"Yes, I assume that I'm still growing," he replied, nudging her with his elbow as they trotted up the castle steps. Hermione waved as she went to the left to the first floor girls bathroom, and the boys went the other way; they'd meet up in ten minutes in Professor McGonagall's room.

Not long after, Brian was walking along with his friends down the corridor to the Transfiguration classroom. Up ahead, he could see his mother in quiet conversation with a witch he did not know. He'd picked up a green apple from the canteen table, which he'd nearly finished by then, and a bunch of seedless grapes that went directly into a pocket of his school robes. Minerva had heard the students as they made their way between classes, the halls buzzing with excited chatter; she knew that Hogwarts pupils were almost always happy to see their school friends when they returned to the castle in September for the start of the new term.

"No food in the classrooms, if you please, Mr. Rollins," she reminded him, seeing that he delicately nibbled the last possible bits of an apple core very much like Albus did. McGonagall kindly nodded in reply to "good morning" greetings from several students as they passed.

Brian grinned, and his eyes took on a decidedly bright twinkle as he made sure no one else was watching. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry about that," he whispered, taking the remnant of his Granny Smith apple and transforming it into a single Scottish thistle in an incredibly smooth and unhurried motion. He handed it to her as he made his way to his seat… middle row, second table from the front. She felt her heart swell with love and pride as she looked down at the delicate purple flower, and knew that it had to have been Alastor Moody who taught him the spell.

"Places please, ladies and gentlemen," Minerva called to the class, striding purposefully to the front of the room. "I feel that we have much to catch up on here on this first day if past history is any indicator of how much you've forgotten over your summer holiday!"

"And so, with focus, intent and incantation…" she began, twitching her wand at the chalkboard which was already full of written instructions and reminders. Their task would be transforming beetles into coat buttons, a relatively straightforward but mildly challenging exercise. She gave them a few minutes to copy down the diagrams from the board, and then allowed them to begin the practical application of the spell; they'd already made a note of the essay assignment for homework. McGonagall was one of the Hogwarts instructors who never dismissed early, and always gave out homework for the first day.

As expected, there was a wide variety of success and failure for the second year students: Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were the first to complete the transfiguration correctly, but it went downhill from there for them. Hermione Granger made four rapid transfigurations, Brian Rollins two, but Harry Potter spent most of the time exercising his beetle specimen as it scuttled around on his desk, avoiding his wand. Ron Weasley's poorly Spello-taped wand sparked and sputtered for the better part of an hour; he was eventually able to transform his beetle into a squashed greasy mess on the desktop… but that was not what Minerva had asked for.

When the bell finally rang at the end of the period, signaling that it was time for lunch, McGonagall heaved a silent sigh, raising her eyes heavenward as the greatly relieved students made their way to the Great Hall. She felt a mild tingle of his magic as Brian passed by, smiling and bidding her a good afternoon as he put a small handful of shiny black coat buttons in his pocket. It made her very happy to have her son back at the castle, and she turned to her desk to tidy up the notes and parchments, softly humming a traditional Scottish song, before making her way to the faculty lounge for the mid-day meeting.

TBC

A/N: after lunch with his friends in the Great Hall and a quick catnap in the courtyard, Brian is finally going to attend Professor Lockhart's first class.


	32. Chapter 32

"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set in the beginning of HP-ATSS to follow each school year but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This tale ignores DH and subsequent revelations about canon characters and timelines. It is, for the most part, RaM-verse compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side, for mild coarse language and implied sexuality; ADMM and FFPS).

A/N: We find our second-year students in their first afternoon class, Defense Against the Dark Arts with the new Hogwarts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Ron Weasley has yet another disaster with his damaged wand before he and Harry serve out their detention the first Friday night of the new term. Later, Ron, Harry and Hermione will visit with Hagrid (and Brian too, although they do not know he is there in one of his Animagus forms).

_**Chapter 32/?**_

_**The Lilac Pimpernel**_

"And that's time!" Lockhart called after thirty minutes had elapsed, pausing as the students all passed their pop-quizzes forward. "Papers please, thank you. Ah yes, thank you indeed." He shuffled through the stack, smiling, chuckling to himself and murmuring comments, totally oblivious to the looks of disbelief from most of the boys in the classroom (most of the girls, however, looked rather doe-eyed at the dashing new member of the Hogwarts faculty).

Brian looked across the aisle at Dean and Seamus, shaking his head. Rollins already had a fairly low opinion of Lockhart, due in large part to his cavalier treatment of Professor Sprout that very morning just before Double Herbology: Lockhart had implied that he knew far better than she how to doctor a Whomping Willow. The multiple self-(self-self) portraits of the wizard in the classroom did little to alleviate that impression.

The students had just completed fifty-four questions in half an hour, and Brian glanced over at Neville's paler than usual face. He shrugged and went back to reading the titles of the books piled on his desk: "Break with a Banshee", "Gadding with Ghouls", "Holidays with Hags", "Magical Me" were just a few of them. He stifled a sigh of exasperation and forced his attention back on the teacher standing in front of him.

Lockhart clucked his tongue and tutted as he read the last of the papers, shuffling them back into a neat stack and placing them face down on Neville and Brian's desk. "Other than the full marks to Miss Granger and a well-earned ten points to Gryffindor," he said, nodding in acknowledgment of her blushing smile, "I can see we have much to catch up on for the rest of you lot!" He gave a roguish wink and waited (again) for someone to laugh appreciatively. Gilderoy Lockhart was a wizard who craved the loving attention of his audience… but we're not here to talk about that.

Rollins didn't smile but he did nod stoically in the face of Professor Lockhart's mild admonishment; Brian had only been sure of three or four of his answers on the quiz and he'd attempted more than a few wild guesses on the rest. He readied his quill to take notes as Lockhart made his way back to the lectern with his flawlessly pressed gold robes curling like a shimmery cloud behind him. Apparently Gilderoy felt the need for multiple wardrobe changes each day, such was his sense of vanity.

"Right then, to the business of Defense against the Dark Arts," he began, striking a dramatic pose as he rested one fist on the desktop and the other on his hip, surreptitiously checking that his robes draped just so. "It is my job to familiarize you with the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind, but, fear not! No harm shall come to you while you are in my classroom, ladies and gentlemen." He gave what he considered to be a reassuring grin, flashing as many of his pearly whites as he could, but more than a few of the boys flinched at the condescension.

Brian noticed then that he heard a number of shrill voices coming from behind the teacher's desk, and he found that he could understand their heavily accented and idiomatic English (though he couldn't place the British regional accent as one he'd ever even heard before). He glanced around to see if any other student had heard them too, but no one made any indication that they had.

He sat up straight in his seat now with his interest most assuredly piqued as Lockhart reached behind the lectern and drew forth a small satin-draped cage, rather like one you could keep parakeets in. In fact, that's what Brian was reminded of… the high-pitched chittering voices were very much like a flock of tiny birds arguing.

"Move over, _please_, Lionel. Come on, lad," he heard one of them saying under the drape. "I would love to Maggie, if this Billy would _geddof_ my bloody foot!" exclaimed another. "Mum, I'm hungry," whined yet another (and this one seemed much younger than the first two). Brian frowned as he concentrated on the barely intelligible voices, and completely lost track of what Professor Lockhart was saying to the class…

"Now, be warned ladies and gentlemen. I must ask that you not scream as it might provoke them." And with that, he whipped away the drape; there were gasps from several of the students. "Yes! _Cornish_ pixies and you see that they…"

Seamus and Dean lost control of their silent giggles, and Seamus actually snorted in derision. "A question, Mr. Finnegan?" asked Lockhart, smiling vapidly and completely misreading the students' reactions. Brian looked closely at the small cage. Even though the pixies were each rather tiny, they were packed into the cage like sardines. He chalked up cruelty to small, magical creatures as yet another thing he didn't like about Gilderoy Lockhart. A few of the pixies were actually getting squashed, bruised and stepped on by their neighbors.

"Well, they're not _dangerous_, are they, Professor?" Seamus inquired, rather breathless as he struggled not to give in to his fit of giggles. Dean sputtered as he tried not to laugh out loud. Hermione was glaring back at Harry and Ron, practically daring them to laugh though neither was in a humorous mood: now Harry had to deal with a pesky first-year Gryffindor named Colin Creavey who followed him around the castle snapping photographs with his Muggle –style camera.

Gilderoy Lockhart waggled his finger patronizingly. "Don't be so sure lads! I've found them to be devilishly clever little things while out and about on my far-flung travels." He chuckled at his own joke, and even he sounded a bit forced now. "See my collected works for further details of my journeys through the UK and the Continent!"

The pixies were petite, slimmer than gnomes, about seven or eight inches tall (a few were half that size and probably youngsters), and bright electric blue all over with eyes disproportionately large for their bodies. As soon as Lockhart removed the drape, several of them saw the young witches and wizards in the classroom and started rocketing around the over-crowded cage making rude faces at the students. One reached through the bars of the birdcage, pointing and laughing at Neville's apprehensive expression.

"Oi, I'm coming for you, you big gob-smacked boyo!" taunted the largest of the pixies very aggressively; unaware that only Brian could understand them. The pixie looked directly at Brian. "And you too numpty fish-face! You want a piece of this, eh?" He bared his pointed teeth and shook his tiny fist.

Before Brian could reply (and he was trying hard to recall what he'd read about Cornish pixies in the Newt Scamander reference book), Lockhart reached around and unfastened the latch on the gilded cage. "Ready, steady? Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the door.

It was instant and total chaos.

Four of the pixies crashed out through the large panes of the stained glass windows, cackling gleefully the entire time as they crashed back in, covering everyone with shards of glass and assorted debris. Another pair of them zipped right over to Neville, lifting him up with very little effort to hang the boy from the chandelier by his collar. Still other pixies were tearing random pages out of books and upending pots of ink as they leapt from one desk to the next.

Most of the students cowered under their tables, crawling hurriedly to get out of Lockhart's classroom, but Brian dropped to his hands and knees and crept slowly _toward_ the open cage on the lectern. Three very tiny pixies were there, clinging to one another, and looking around at the absolute bedlam with wide eyes and fearful expressions. Their pointy ears drooped as they tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

"Hi guys, it's okay. I'm gonna try to help you if I can," he said softly, keeping his voice low and unthreatening. Brian moved cautiously, trying to avoid the broken glass that now littered the floor; he had one or two small cuts on his hands which he ignored for the moment.

"My name is Brian, Brian Rollins. What's yours?" He knelt by the front desk, and leaned close to the three youngsters, hoping not to frighten them any more than they already were. He didn't know anything about pixie biology, but all three were visibly trembling with fear.

The smallest pixie burst into fresh tears, hiding her face into the chest of the one who was holding her. The two (only just) slightly older pixie children lifted their chins and squared their shoulders before they answered. "This is my sister Meg, and I am Fiona. He's Gordon, um, our brother." The chubby male pixie nodded as bravely as he could.

Rollins smiled, immediately liking their courage, and reached into the pocket of his robes to bring out the grapes he'd picked up before lunch. "Pleased to meet you; I never knew pixies could have families like me. Here, are you hungry? It's alright, I got these downstairs a little while ago." He flinched as a poorly flung and ricocheting chair leg hit him on the back of the head, reaching one hand to rub the bruise that formed. Brian paused then to remove a small sliver of glass from his thumb.

Meg, the littlest pixie, tentatively selected one grape and took a bite of it. She sniffled a little, and wiped her tears away with her wrist. She took another bite of the grape, nodding to her brother and sister, who finally reached for their own grapes from the pile that Brian had offered. The pandemonium went on around them unabated.

"These are good, thank you," said Gordon as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful of the seedless red grape. "How is it that you are understanding us?"

Rollins shrugged, still smiling. "I'm not sure but I think it's pretty cool."

"You talk funny," Meg commented shyly, unaware that her squeaks and bird-like twitters sounded funny too. She had disengaged from her sister's protective arms, and sat down cross-legged to get a closer look at Brian. "And you're not scary at all like the big 'uns usually are. Do you have littermates too?" Meg gave a wistful sigh as she rapidly developed a full-blown crush on the second-year Gryffindor.

Fiona reached for another grape from the bunch; this was turning into a rather nice picnic. "Are you a wizard-human like him?" She indicated Lockhart with a tilt of her rather sharp chin. Gilderoy had just had his wand stripped from his hand by one of the adult pixies, and he was making his way up the narrow staircase to his office. His portrait images were tripping and stumbling over each other to do the same.

Brian shook his head, giving a rueful grin as they watched Lockhart's clumsy progress. "I am a student here at the school, and yes, I do have brothers and a sister back home, all older so I'm the baby too, Meg, just like you. We call this place Hogwarts school of…" Behind him, Ron Weasley roared as a pixie bit him on the ear. "Hang on a sec, let me try something." The littlest pixie cowered down at the sight of his wand.

"It's okay, sweetie, I will never knowingly hurt you. I promise," he reassured her, touching her shoulder with two very gentle fingertips. "We're friends now, right?" She nodded, and the three children huddled close to each other. Brian picked up the empty cage and moved it to the center of the lectern. With a whispered spell and a twitch of his wand, three copies of the gilded cage appeared, each with a duplicate midnight blue satin cover.

"Oh!" the three exclaimed.

"We can each have our own room now!" added Meg enthusiastically, clapping her hands and holding them to her chest. Her older siblings smirked at each other and smiled at Brian, including him in their joke. Meg really was a sweet child.

He laughed. "Well, maybe more room anyway, kiddo. I'll have to ask around about a more comfortable arrangement for you later." Brian chuckled, wondering just how he was going to ask Headmaster Dumbledore about a place for the Cornish Pixies to live in or around the castle.

The boy leaned closer to the pixies and was interrupted by the crash of a huge dragon skeleton in the middle of the classroom. He sighed with exasperation, noting that only Hermione, Ron, Harry and Neville were still in the room; Professor Lockhart was nowhere to be seen.

"Stay up here, guys," he told them, glancing over his shoulder at the chaotic mess behind him. "It'll be safer for you… I think."

TBC

A/N2: Thank you for your patience and for reading this far! R&R always welcome.


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